


Serenata

by arcaneGash



Series: But the Stars Bring Balance [2]
Category: Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door, Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, everyone's an oc sorry, shadow sirens as a species, slow burn (as much as my limited skills can allow for)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneGash/pseuds/arcaneGash
Summary: A thousand years ago, with the Shadow Queen's dark magic gripping the world in its cold claws, things were different.
Chronological prequel but spiritual sequel to 998





	1. Risoluto

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again at krispy kreme  
> yeah so this has technically been done since september but i'm still working through it to make sure that i'm not going to want to change anything after posting it, so i guess it's a work in progress anyway?   
> anyway so this deals entirely with my two second favorite shadow siren ocs, cerin the first and lillian, and their relationship as it plays out. also there's a lot of lore regarding the shadow queen and the empire she formed. as it says in the summary this is a chronological prequel but spiritual sequel to my other fic 998. i would advise reading that one first if you're new but you probably don't have to to understand? kind of spoils an important part of 998 though so i'd still recommend familiarizing yourself with that one first.  
> anyway this is gay read it

A flat gray sky stretched from horizon to horizon, a reflection of the dim bleakness of the world it oversaw. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground as far as it was possible to see, bordered by barely-visible peaks of distant mountaintops. Tall evergreens and sparse, scrubby bushes were the only visible vegetation in such an otherwise desolate wasteland. The freezing wind carried flurries of snow nearly horizontally, spitting it into the faces of the three shadowy creatures that cut thin paths through the white flakes.

The leader of the trio was a tall and slender being, appearing to have a humanoid upper body with dark purple skin that flushed darker against the cold. Dark green hair fell past her shoulders, and a straight shock of hair fell in front of her face, covering her eyes from view. From the waist down she was tethered to the ground by a tendril of shadow that she balanced on to move. She wore a pair of white gloves on her hands and a pointed hat with a wide brim, striped with alternating colors of dark green and white. She took the lead, her companions behind her flanking her on either side, all fighting the wind and snow. On her left, a shorter and stockier creature of similar appearance, but with a red and white striped hat and a curly, fluffy mass of dark brown hair, tucked her chin to her chest. On the leader’s right was yet another, just as slim and as tall as the captain, with dark blue shoulder length hair and an identical hat of matching color.

 “I hate this place,” the blue one complained, raising her voice to be heard above the rushing wind. She drew one of her gloved hands across her sensitive eyes that were stinging from the wind.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a job to do,” said the leader brusquely. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conserve her own body heat. “If we’re quick about it, we can get out of here and go home.”

“It’s not so bad,” said the red one with a nonchalant shrug.

“You would think so,” said the first accusatorily.

“Both of you, shut up! If you give us away, I’ll kill you both myself!” snapped the leader.

“Sorry, Lillian,” said the first guiltily.

“Someone’s up ahead,” said the third in a warning tone. Lillian threw her hand out backward, signaling the others to stop in their tracks. With the other she clenched her fist, summoning a creature out of the ground, a savage plant-looking beast with blue and white colors and a jaw full of sharp teeth. It shook snow from its head as it emerged from the earth, salivating. Lillian squinted through the swirling snow at the figure her companion had pointed out, trying to gauge if it was a threat from its silhouette alone. It had a rounded, protruding back and limbs that were on the short side; she rubbed at her eyes, convinced they were tricking her. What on earth was a Koopa doing out here?

“This could get ugly,” she muttered to herself, immediately suspicious. Koopas were much more suited to temperate climates, nothing like this. For one to be out here in the snowy wilderness was not an accident. She pointed at the figure, and the plant beast responded, immediately fighting its own path through the snow toward the stranger. She waited a moment before motioning with her other hand for her partners to advance; with two quiet noises they had both slipped into the shadows. She heard the Koopa yelp with surprise as they reemerged right next to him, and now she could see the two Shadow Sirens each grabbing one of its arms. She sank into the shadows, too, reappearing as dramatically as possible right in front of the hapless Koopa.

The Koopa, as was expected, looked terrified, having been seized by two living shadows and now accosted by a third. It was a male, she decided, seeing the musculature of his arms and the slight scruffiness of hair around his chin. He had a blue shell and dark yellow skin that she could see under the thick winter coat he wore; he was also wearing heavy brown boots. He was grimacing at them, trying to pull his arms away, but her partners held him firm.

“What are you doing?!” he spat as she appeared, still fighting to free himself.

“I will be asking the questions,” she said coldly. “What are you doing so far away from home, Koopa?”

“I’m—I’m an explorer,” the Koopa stammered, warily eyeing the salivating plant beast inches from his neck. “I’m mapping unexplored territory—my supplies are over there by that tree—“ He pointed with his right hand past the Sirens, and the leader turned to see a large brown backpack, half-buried in snow and leaning against an evergreen.

“This territory is by no means unexplored,” said the leading Siren harshly. “You are to take your things and leave this place immediately. Never return.”

She pointed downward, and the two Sirens simultaneously released their grip on his arms. He fell to the snow-covered ground, hastily scrambling to his feet and backing away as the plant beast inched closer. “Why?” he asked, sounding legitimately confused and maybe even hurt.

Lillian fixed him with a dry glare. “You are encroaching on royal territory. This land, and all land, belongs to the Queen of Shadows. Her Highness does not permit exploration unless it is on her terms. Unless you have explicit permission from her to be here, begone. And be quick about it; my pet hungers.”

On cue, the summoned plant beast snapped its jaws threateningly. The color drained from the Koopa’s face, and he hurried away, brushing past the blue Siren. She gasped and flinched away.

“Did he hurt you?!” demanded the red Siren, glaring at the Koopa’s retreating form.

“No…no, I was just…not expecting him to touch me,” responded the victim, rubbing her wrist where the two had connected.

Lillian scowled, crossing her arms, watching the Koopa hurriedly grab his stuff and vanish like a ghost into the spiraling snow. “Come on,” she grumbled to her companions, out of his earshot. “Let’s check on the Star and leave. It’s too damn cold out here.” She flicked her wrist and the plant beast, too, made a final retreat into the ground.

The trio trudged along in silence, on the lookout for more suspicious activity but finding nothing out of the ordinary. “Did we really have to shoo him away?” said the one who’d been struck by the Koopa.

“Yeah,” chimed in the other, “why couldn’t we just kill him?”

“That’s _not_ what I meant!” said the first Siren, horrified.

“We can’t kill everyone who’s an inconvenience,” said the leader in a long-suffering tone. “He’s just some fool who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…the Queen loves spineless cowards like him, they bow to her will without even putting up a fight.” She shook her head, snow tumbling off the brim of her hat and out of her hair. “Besides, he poses no danger to us, especially because he didn’t discover the Star out here.”

“We wouldn’t know if we had,” said the red Siren half-questioningly. “We didn’t ask him, or check his notes, or anything.”

Lillian came to a slow halt in the snow; the others exchanged nervous glances. “Damn it!” she shouted, causing a large shrub to burst out of the ground and immediately wither away at the cold. Massaging her temples, she turned to the blue Siren. “Cerulean, go find him and interrogate him. Make sure he knows _nothing_ about the Crystal Stars. If he does…” She made a slashing motion with her thumb across her neck. The other Siren nodded anxiously and slipped into the shadows.

“Should I go with?” asked the red Siren.

Lillian shook her head. “She can handle it. We need to track down the Crystal Star in the meantime. I can’t stand it here…the sooner we’re back at the Palace, the better.”

They traveled the remainder of the journey in silence, finding the silvery, iridescent Crystal Star placed by the Queen untouched and unharmed. On their way back they came across Cerulean again, who seemed eager to get out of the cold.

“He says he didn’t know anything about the Star,” she said quickly, fidgeting nervously with her gloves.

“Did you make sure?” asked Lillian, pointedly pushing up the brim of her hat and peering at her with her eyes uncovered.

“Y-yes,” replied Cerulean, caught off guard by her captain brazenly demonstrating the secret weapon of the Shadow Sirens. “I told him to never come here again.”

“Good. We’re not to tell Cerin of any of this. As far as she knows, we didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary at all. Understood?”

Both Sirens nodded. Satisfied, Lillian flashed them a small smile. “Good work, team. Let’s hope we don’t get stationed at this freezing hellhole again for a while.”

-

The green Siren steeled her nerves as she entered the long, grandiose hallways that led eventually to the Queen of Shadows herself. Being so close to the monarch, her creator, always made her nervous; she was an imposing figure to all Sirens, really. Fortunately it wasn’t the Queen herself she would be speaking to shortly, but her second-in-command, another Shadow Siren by the name of Cerin. She was the oldest, most powerful, and most trusted Siren the Queen had at her command, and Lillian couldn’t stand her. She was perpetually grouchy and entirely uncaring about anything but the missions the other Sirens were assigned. The leaders of the various squads had to report their results to her, and if anything at all had gone wrong, Cerin would without fail give them a violent verbal lashing, regardless of the circumstances. She was well known for ripping Sirens a new one for things that weren’t even their fault. Lillian grimaced. For this reason she’d decided to accidentally omit from her report the fact that her squad had seen a suspicious Koopa and didn’t eliminate him. She really didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of a diatribe right now.

Cerin was stationed at her usual position, right in front of the double doors that led to the throne room and the Queen. She wasn’t particularly tall, especially compared to Lillian herself, who was one of the taller Sirens. But being so closely connected to the Queen, even by Shadow Siren standards, made her exude a menacing aura that made Lillian a little antsy despite her dislike for the most senior Siren. As she approached, Cerin glanced up from beneath her shaggy black hair and purple and white striped hat and straightened herself up, putting her hands behind her back.

“Lillian of squad seven,” said the plant Siren, looking Cerin in the eye as best she could, as both Sirens’ eyes were hidden under their hair. “We went to check on the Crystal Star in the north and found nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing at all?” said Cerin, as businesslike and unfriendly as ever.

“That’s what I said,” replied Lillian with the barest hint of sharpness. Something about Cerin’s attitude just drove her up the wall, and she wanted her to know Lillian didn’t like her. Not that she figured the older Siren would care.

Cerin said nothing for several moments; Lillian could feel her scrutinizing gaze roving suspiciously over her and willed her skin not to prickle under the pressure. Finally Cerin sniffed contemptuously and looked away; Lillian allowed herself to relax.

“Fine,” said the older Siren gruffly. “Tomorrow you and your squad are to investigate the Ruby Star in the dark forest to the west. Do not disappoint me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Lillian, her tone blurring the line between cold and sarcastic. Cerin’s lips curled downward in an unsubtle frown, but she waved Lillian off with a huff. Lillian turned away to head back the way she came, trying her best to fight the smirk that threatened to cross her face. One of these days she was going to get in trouble with her…but not today.


	2. Divisi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one turned out longer than i anticipated but hopefully that's not a bad thing. enjoy

Scattered around the Palace of Shadow, tucked quietly away in its darkest corners, were hidden rooms accessible only by the elites of the Shadow Queen's army, the Shadow Sirens. Their purpose was widely debated; some argued that they were meant to be additional torture chambers, not that the Palace had any dearth of those. Others asserted that these secret rooms were bunkers, in case the unthinkable happened and the empire found itself under siege. Regardless of the Queen’s true intentions in designing these spaces, the Sirens had gradually turned them into recreational rooms, places for Sirens of all generations to trade stories and share gossip in their downtime. They were always dimly lit and not particularly large, but many Sirens had taken it upon themselves to decorate the areas with things they “borrowed” from the surface world, or even from other parts of the Palace (the Queen, after all, never left the throne room and was never the wiser.) Their efforts turned these threadbare rooms into cozy living spaces that were inviting even without the quiet hum of conversation of Shadow Sirens discussing the conquest and bragging about their feats.

Lillian had been engrossed in a gripping debate with another, younger plant siren by the name of Violet about the finer points of summoning plants for combat purposes when she pointed over Lillian’s shoulder and asked, “Isn’t she one of your squadmates?”

Lillian turned, not particularly surprised to see Maria, the spirited fire siren and her youngest squadmate. She was a familiar face around this area of the Palace, often found having loud and animated conversation with anyone who dared engage her. Much more jarring was her sullen, worried expression. Lillian called her over; she looked reluctant to approach but did so anyway.

“Is something wrong, Maria?” Lillian asked, unsettled but trying not to show it.

Maria shrugged, then leaned in closer and said quietly, “I kind of…wanted to talk to you. Privately.”

Lillian nodded, offering Violet across the table an apologetic half shrug. The other plant siren dismissed herself, claiming she had business elsewhere soon anyway. As she sank into the shadows, Lillian indicated Maria take her spot in a wooden chair that had seen better days. The fire siren staunchly avoided eye contact in favor of staring at the dusty ground.

Lillian realized she had no choice but to probe. “Does this have to do with our patrols?”

Maria shook her head. “It’s not about anything like that. I was thinking that…maybe you would know what to do if…” She trailed off with a wince that made it seem like the words she was holding back were biting her.

“You can tell me anything, Maria.” Lillian gave her a smile despite the sudden feeling that she was wildly out of her depth. But she had to at least try for the sake of her squadmate. Aside from her third-generation sisters and few brothers, Lillian would easily consider Maria one of her closest friends. Cerulean too, though the water Siren and other third of their squad was hard to find outside of their patrols.

“Have you ever…” Maria gritted her teeth, reaching up and pulling at her hair. “Just…felt…wrong?”

Lillian couldn’t help but pause, half to consider the question and half to have the sinking realization that yes, she was in no way prepared for this. “I don’t…think so. What do you mean?”

Maria exhaled, visibly trying to calm herself. Her fingers clenched and relaxed. “I just…I’ve felt like everything about me is _wrong._ Like I’m trapped. It makes me feel sick, but I can’t stop thinking about it…something must be wrong with me.”

She shrank into herself, radiating heat. Lillian was stunned into silence, trying to process and think of something intelligent to say at once. “I, uh…I don’t think I understand.”

“You and me both,” scoffed Maria. She crossed her arms tightly and gave the floor beneath her a glower that would send people running for their lives. “It’s like…it’s a thought that keeps running through my head no matter what I’m doing. Then it turns into a feeling that makes my skin crawl.” She shuddered, digging her gloved fingers into the skin of her arms. “Once it does that, I can’t focus on anything else except how bad it feels. I usually go and set things on fire until I forget about it, but I can’t do that forever, and it just…it won’t stop. It’s just getting worse and worse.”

Lillian chewed anxiously on the inside of her lip as Maria fell silent. Now that she thought about it, Maria had been less of her upbeat self recently…she felt a pang of guilt for not realizing sooner. If this was what she was battling, no wonder she’d become so agitated…

Maria now turned to face her leader instead of the floor, her expression so profoundly miserable that Lillian half wished she’d look away again. She raked her teeth across her lip, trying to force words that were just refusing to come. Maria rescued her from having to reply by asking, “Have you ever…heard of anyone who felt like this?”

Reluctantly, Lillian shook her head, extinguishing the small flare of hope in Maria’s face. The fire siren scowled, squeezing at her upper arms again. “Great,” she growled, mostly to herself but loud enough that Lillian could still hear her. “So I’m the only freak who doesn’t feel comfortable in her own skin.”

“You’re not a freak, Maria!” Lillian glanced around, hoping that none of the other Shadow Sirens in the room were paying attention, having forgotten they were there. In a much more hushed voice, she went on, “I have to admit I don’t really know what to tell you, but…I know there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Really? Then what would _you_ call it?” Maria’s eyes were hidden behind her fluffy brown bangs, but Lillian knew she’d narrowed them by the scathing in her tone.

“I, uh…” Lillian shook her head. “It’s…different, I guess. But that doesn’t mean it’s _bad,_ or that you’re a freak.” She offered her a subdued smile. “I always have your back, Maria. Cerulean too. No matter what.”

To her surprise, her words seemed to soothe Maria somewhat, but she stubbornly turned her gaze back to the floor. “What do I do?”

Lillian puzzled for a moment. “Do you have any idea what you could do to make yourself feel better when it hits? Besides setting things on fire.”

Maria shrugged, running her fingers through the hair that fell around her shoulders. She paused, and Lillian could almost see the gears turning in her head.

“You promise you don’t think I’m a freak?” she asked.

“Of course I don’t,” said Lillian sincerely, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t tell anyone...besides Lee if she asks. But not a word to anyone else.”

Maria nodded, almost shyly. Lillian offered her a genuine smile. “Thank you for coming to me, Maria. If I can do anything else…”

“Yeah. Thanks, Lillian.” Maria returned her smile, on a smaller scale but much better than the defeated look she wore before. “Meet you at the fortress tomorrow?”

Lillian nodded, immensely relieved that somehow, she had been able to help. “See you then. Oh, and if you happen to see Lee before then, threaten her for me.” The water Siren in question was regularly showing up late to their scheduled patrols, and while Lillian forgave it the first five times, her patience was wearing thin. The last thing she wanted to do was to have to turn her over to Cerin for discipline, but she didn’t have much choice if Cerulean would continue to show such disdain for punctuality.

Maria nodded, rising from her chair and giving Lillian a small wave as she exited the room, leaving the captain alone with her thoughts.

-

For once Cerulean was on time, appearing in the shade of the stone building leading to the massive armored castle in which a Crystal Star was hidden. Lillian herself leaned against the cool stone, noticing grass growing between the cobbles and absentmindedly curling her fingers, forcing it to grow. She glanced up at the other siren’s emergence.

“Hi,” said Cerulean breathlessly, brushing some but not all of her dark blue hair out of her face.

“Hello. You’re early,” said Lillian, raising her eyebrows but giving her a smile. “For once.”

“I’ve just been…distracted,” said Cerulean, semi-defensively. “I lost track of time…where’s Maria?”

“I’m not sure.” Lillian looked around, half expecting the young Siren to appear in front of them at the mention of her name. But the stone shelter around them remained empty. A cool breeze blew through, carrying the scent of flowers from the surrounding meadow. The sky was as dark gray as ever, providing just barely enough light to see, not that Shadow Sirens had any trouble seeing in the dark anyway.

“She’ll be late if she doesn’t show up soon,” Lillian mused out loud. “Maybe you’ve been a bad influence on her.” She meant it jokingly, trying to mask her worry for the fire Siren. Maria hadn’t ever been late before, and the conversation they’d had yesterday was weighing heavily on her mind.

Cerulean huffed and crossed her arms. “She can make her own decisions, and I can make mine.”

“I’m only teasing you, Lee. I’ll stop if—“

She was interrupted by the quiet but distinctive sound of a Shadow Siren emerging through the darkness, and she turned toward the sound expectantly.

“Speak of the devil. Lee beat you here, you know…“

Her voice died as she looked at Maria for the first time—her beautiful, long brown hair no longer reached down to her lower back. Now it was short, choppy, borderline masculine but too messy to really indicate anything other than it had been wildly hacked at with a blade.

Maria fidgeted uncomfortably under the stares of her teammates, but she stood her ground. With a visible effort she drew herself up and said loudly, accusatorily, “What?”

“Your hair!” said Cerulean, scandalized.

“What about it?” said Maria with a shrug that might have been flippant if it hadn’t been just a little too forced. “It was getting in my way. So I fixed it.”

“It’s, uh…” Lillian knew this had something to do with their chat yesterday, and she scrambled for something constructive to say. “Very…” What had she intended by doing this? Think of something! “Boyish?” she tried, immediately mentally berating herself. Of all the stupid things—

Maria’s face lit up. “You really think so?”

Oh. “Yes,” said Lillian quickly, “it, uh, it suits you.” She tossed a pointed glance at Cerulean, who added, “You _were_ always complaining about it.”

The way Maria beamed made Lillian smile despite her shock (and her latent mourning for the fire Siren’s gorgeous curly locks.) By some miracle, she’d managed to say the right thing. “Let’s go, shall we?” she said, indicating the wooden bridge that led to the castle’s front doors.

Maria seemed eager to take the lead, so Lillian let her, hanging behind with Cerulean and giving her a nudge with her elbow as the trio crossed the bridge. Well aware they were within earshot of the fire Siren, she hissed, “Maria’s going through… _something_ right now. It’s been really bothering her, whatever it is, so I need you to be unconditionally supportive of whatever she does.”

“You think this is a rebellious phase?” asked Cerulean under her breath.

“I don’t know _what_ it is. But look at her—I’d hardly call that rebellion.”

As she said this Maria threw open the doors to the castle with an energy Lillian hadn’t noticed she’d been missing the past few months. Her fingers were alight with flames that she created small, fiery tornadoes with, dancing on her hands, free yet carefully controlled.

Cerulean made an interested kind of murmuring noise. “I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.”

“Neither have I.” Lillian shrugged, watching her companion practically saunter through the dark halls of the fortress. “If she’s happy looking boyish, then she can look boyish. Who’s it hurting?”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that,” said Cerulean. Lillian could just tell from her tone that she was quirking an eyebrow.

“I…it’s not like I have a problem with--” Lillian floundered for a moment, annoyed at Cerulean’s insight and her own desperate scrambling to defend herself. “Fine. Maybe I am. But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“I never said it wasn’t,” was Cerulean’s cool response.

“Is this revenge for poking fun at you being late all the time?” Lillian grumbled, trying to diffuse her own awkwardness.

“You’re the one digging yourself deeper,” said Cerulean, the lilt in her voice indicating she was trying not to laugh. “I get it, though. You shouldn’t worry about her. She’s not doing anything overtly dangerous…”

Lillian swore there was a hint of guilt in her tone, but before she could say anything Maria had doubled back to them.

“Are you coming or what? It’s going to take us all day if you two lag behind like this,” she said with a cheeky smile.

“We’re coming,” said Cerulean faux-indignantly, picking up her pace to match Maria’s and elbowing her in the side.

“Good,” said Maria, the smile abruptly fading from her face. “And stop talking about me behind my back.”

Cerulean spluttered. “That wasn’t—“

“Yes it was,” said Maria with a slight frown. She didn’t look angry, but certainly not thrilled either. “I’m not stupid. I don’t care if you like what I did or not, but…”

“It’s not that we don’t like it being shorter, honest,” said Cerulean quickly, looking to Lillian for backup as the captain approached them. “It just…is a little messy. What did you do, take a sword to it?”

“Yes.”

“We can help,” offered Lillian. “Lee and I will even it out, make it less choppy…if you want.”

“You’d really do that?” Maria had wilted somewhat at the confrontation but seemed to perk up a little at the suggestion. “I know it looks terrible, but I could only do so much on my own…”

“That’s why you have us,” said Cerulean with a sincere smile. “You could’ve just said something if you wanted it short, you know.”

Maria shrugged, falling in between the two older sirens as they maneuvered around the bony remains of half-devoured Koopas. “It was…kind of something I wanted to do myself. I knew it’d look bad, but it was worth it anyway. Maybe I’ll take you up on fixing it, though,” she added.

“When we’re done here,” said Lillian. “Until then, we need to focus on the mission. I don’t like the way these skeletons are looking at me.”

Her squadmates murmured agreement, and the three pressed on, toward the hidden Crystal Star.

-

A siren returning alone from a mission was just about the worst case scenario imaginable. She was inconsolable, wild with panic, able to do nothing but hiccup pitifully. If Lillian had to guess, she was a sixth-gen Siren, barely a year old and probably just assigned to a squad. This may have even been her first mission ever…judging by the light blue of her hat and hair, Lillian assumed she was an ice siren.

“What’s happening?” she asked as calmly as she could manage, crossing the underground room that contained the entrance to the Palace of Shadow and doing her best to look her in the eyes. Cerulean and Maria weren’t far behind, though thankfully both kept their mouths shut; they were every bit as tense as she was.

The young Siren let out a choked sob, scrubbing at her eyes and cheeks.

“Where’s your squad?” she asked, unable to prevent a little bit of sharpness leaking into her tone—she didn’t want to frighten the greenhorn any more than she already was, but she was alone, her squad could be _dying_ as they spoke _._

“They’re being attacked!” the young Siren wailed finally, dragging her fingers through her hair and revealing her eyes—icy blue, almost pale enough to be gray. The air around them was cold with her agitation, and Lillian willed herself not to shiver.

“Where?” demanded Maria, appearing on Lillian’s left side. Lillian held out a hand in front of her squadmate, feeling a rush of heat as if she’d instead stuck her hand inches from a fire. Maria meant well, she knew, and it was worry for the other Sirens that was making her temper flare, but the absolute last thing they needed was for her to scare the young Siren into silence.

“The K-Koopa village to the east,” the young Siren stammered. “They—they took the Garnet Star from the desert—an uprising—we couldn’t t-take them all on, we—“

A quiet sound interrupted her, and Lillian turned to see that Cerulean had vanished into the shadows. She bristled slightly; she hadn’t yet given the order to move out. Regardless, she turned back to the young Siren. “Listen. You need to go find Cerin immediately. Tell her what happened, tell her to send backup.” She hoped that the oldest siren would for once recognize the urgency and not waste precious time punishing the hapless messenger instead of actually helping. She caught Maria’s eye, not waiting for any confirmation, and gave a nod. The fire siren wordlessly slipped into the darkness, the hard glare on her face the last thing Lillian saw.

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can,” Lillian said to the young one, pointing behind herself to the doors of the Palace of Shadow. “Go, hurry!”

The young Siren nodded, brushing past her and wiping her face. Satisfied she would do her job, Lillian followed her own squadmates into the darkness, reappearing fortunately not in the middle of the action—yet. She was in the shade of a tree, and she peered around its trunk to see that not too far in front of her were the sirens, surrounded by all sides by Koopas brandishing swords, spears, and infuriated expressions.

Lillian assessed the situation: the two stranger sirens looked like they were in bad shape. A male earth and a female air, both battered and bloodied, holding each other upright despite the tips of spears pointed at their chests and backs. Maria and Cerulean were nowhere to be found; that was, until with a shout of anger Maria erupted out of the ground underneath some of the Koopas, knocking them into the air. Before they even hit the ground she sliced her hand through the air and all the shells in her line of sight burst into flames. The two other sirens gaped.

So much for stealth, Lillian thought with a sigh as Maria demanded of her reptilian victims, “You call this an uprising?!” Subtlety wasn’t exactly the forte of most fire sirens she knew…it couldn’t be helped, she supposed, summoning two Piranha Plants out of the ground before her. Still hidden behind the tree, she scanned the situation again—the two weaker sirens had been mostly forgotten as the Koopas focused all their attention on Maria, who was valiantly fighting back. But Lillian had fought with her enough to know that her recklessness made her burn out quickly…where in the seven hells was Cerulean? Irritated, she pointed at the scorched shells of the Koopa gang, and the Piranha Plants obeyed, disappearing into the ground and then bursting through the earth to chomp at whatever was within their reach. The Koopas screeched in terror and darted out of the way of the snapping jaws. Lillian herself made her way through the grass, toward the two stranger sirens who were doing their best to back away from the fight unnoticed.

“You two!” she hissed, dividing her attention between her words and controlling her Piranhas. “Squad number!”

“Eighteen,” stammered the air siren. Her hair was an interesting silvery-blue, voluminous and puffy like a cloud.

“Are you the captain? What happened?”

“They have a Crystal Star,” gasped the earth siren. A rivulet of blood was running down his cheek from what Lillian hoped was a wound on his forehead, and not his eye. He wiped the blood away, smearing it across his cheek. “They’re not using it right now, I don’t know why, but I swear they had it and used it against us, we wouldn’t be losing if—“

Lillian held up a hand to stop him and he immediately clamped his mouth shut. “I believe you,” she said. “Go home, your newest recruit is getting backup as we speak. We can handle it.”

“Please be careful,” urged the air siren as her companion slipped into the shadows beneath him. “They’re much stronger than they seem…Cerin’s gonna kill me.”

“Not if I have any say in it,” growled Lillian. She felt nothing but sympathy for this poor squad, caught completely off guard by circumstances beyond their control. She looked away from the other captain to glance over her shoulder and her eyes widened—both her Piranha Plants were headless, their stems gushing a thick green liquid before they crumbled into dust and blew away with the next breeze. Maria was losing steam, Lillian could tell even from here—her movements were slower, less vigorous. The seven Koopas surrounded her, all brandishing their blades, trying to box her in until she slipped into the darkness below her. Their target lost, they turned around, Lillian directly in their line of sight.

“Go go go go!” Lillian barked at the air siren, pushing past her without waiting to see if she obeyed. She raised both hands, palm-up, and clenched her fists, and the ground rumbled in response. Three more Piranhas and a writhing web of thorny vines burst out of the earth.

“Cowardly devil!” shouted one of the Koopas, hurling his spear at her. He didn’t account for the crosswind, however, and the weapon stuck harmlessly in the ground three feet to Lillian’s right. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she pointed at the stupid reptile and one of her Piranhas lunged for him. Though one of his friends decapitated it before it did any damage, it was enough of a distraction for her to launch the brambles at the pair of them, entangling them in a wicked web that sliced their skin the more they tried to wrestle themselves free. She left her other two Piranha Plants to their own devices as she warped away, reappearing yards behind them as the group hacked away at the vines. Which one of them had the Star?

Maria rose out of the ground next to her a second later, gasping for breath and clutching at her arm where a Koopa’s blade must have nicked her. “Where the hell is Lee?” she demanded, her voice shakier than Lillian had expected.

“I don’t know,” Lillian said, seeing that the Koopas had managed to free their comrades and raising her hands, focusing on summoning something else to wear them down. Wherever the Star was hidden, it was clearly imbuing them with some kind of power, or otherwise these were the most tenacious Koopas she’d ever had the misfortune to fight.

Maria growled in the back of her throat and waved her hand at the approaching Koopas. The resulting fire would have seared the three leading the group had they not pulled themselves into their shells, which the others then kicked at the sirens—Lillian managed to narrowly dodge one that came careening toward her face, but wasn’t so lucky to avoid the second that pelted her in the abdomen. It felt like she’d been bludgeoned with a sledgehammer, and she doubled over with a moan, wrapping her left arm around herself. There was movement behind her and she whirled around, connecting her other fist with the Koopa’s face as hard as she could muster with the throbbing in her gut. He stumbled, groaning, but didn’t fall to the ground like she’d hoped. She reached out her arm and a snarl of vines burst out of the earth before her, wrapping dark tendrils around the sword the Koopa had loosened his grip on and yanking it out of his hand. She snatched it before it could fall to the ground, whipping it through the air at him as he scrambled away.

“Return what you have stolen!” she shouted, pulling herself upright and dropping her other arm from her torso despite the lingering ache. She felt a flare of warmth behind her and knew Maria was right there, could hear the fire crackling on the other siren’s fingertips. The Koopas, too, were reconvening, by now knowing better than to try and surround them.

“We’re hurting,” Maria hissed, loud enough that Lillian could hear her but not their enemies.

“I _know_ ,” Lillian snapped, her pain mingling with real terror at the thought that they might lose to this pathetic rebellion. They’d never lost before…if she survived, she was going to _murder_ Cerulean.

To the Koopas, she raised her voice. “Return the Garnet Star!”

“You’ll have to pry it from our corpses!” declared one of the Koopas, receiving a raucous roar of agreement from his friends.

“That can be arranged!” laughed Maria harshly, sending another barrage of flames at them, splitting them up. But her fire didn’t seem to be harming them, instead just bouncing off their shells. More of the Star’s power, she suspected, steeling herself as the burliest Koopa approached her, sword drawn and eyes burning with hatred. She found physical weapons cumbersome and inconvenient, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold her own in situations like this. The Koopa’s sword came whistling through the air and she deflected the blade with her own, a solid _clang_ ringing through the air and her arm at the impact. Again the swords clashed and she grit her teeth, trying to divide her attention between the Koopa’s moves and the ground at his feet—another twisted tangle of vines burst from the earth and ensnared his ankle. He stumbled but swung anyway, the flat part of the blade striking her hard in the shoulder. She bit down on the scream of pain that nearly left her, and the impact caused her to drop the sword to the ground with a clatter. He swung again, and though she leaned back to dodge, the very tip of the blade caught her in the chest. Pain exploded along her skin, and she was unable to swallow the screech of agony this time. She covered the cut with her hand, realizing that it fortunately was very shallow. Had he been an inch or two closer…her other hand came to a rest on her forehead. These were dire circumstances.

She looked up again, and in shock pulled her hand away from her face before she could sweep her hair out of her eyes. The Koopa was flailing helplessly, his sword abandoned, his entire head encased in a sphere of water. It followed all his movements; try as he might to move his head to pull himself free, he seemed stuck in its center and quickly suffocating. Lillian picked up his sword (it was bigger than the one she’d stolen from his friend), pointed it at his heaving chest, and squeezed her eyes shut.

The blade shuddered in her hands as she drove it through. She didn’t open her eyes until she pulled it back and threw it to the ground. The water sphere had lost its shape and now formed a puddle around the lifeless Koopa’s body, mixing with his blood. He didn’t have the Star. Her lip curled in disgust and she turned her back to the corpse, seeing the other Koopas enveloped in similar bubbles of water, all straining to free themselves and breathe. Lillian waited, watching Maria to her side out of the corner of her eye. The fire siren looked tired enough to not do anything stupid without her command, but just in case.

The water fell to the ground with a splash and the six remaining Koopas followed, gasping and spluttering. Lillian tensed involuntarily. In front of the Koopas a third Siren emerged from the shadows, her back to her squad and her arms open wide.

“Relinquish the Star!” she commanded. Lillian’s jaw nearly fell open at the unfettered _venom_ in her voice; she’d never heard Cerulean nearly this angry. The water Siren jabbed a finger at one of the Koopas and spat, “You’ve lost, fool! I’ll drown you all if you don’t do as I say!”

Lillian allowed herself to relax slightly as the Koopa hurriedly held out his wet and trembling hands in front of him as if holding something. The shimmering outline of a Crystal Star flickered, as if it were being drawn into existence. As they watched, it seemed to solidify, turning a deep reddish-orange, sparkling despite the lack of light. Cerulean snatched it away and turned on her squadmates—the snarl of anger she wore made even Lillian want to flinch. “Let’s go,” she growled, sinking into the shadows again.

Maria looked at Lillian expectantly, and the captain nodded, livid at Cerulean’s insubordination but knowing they couldn’t hang around. The sirens retreated.

“You’re hurt,” said Cerulean as they reemerged in front of the Palace of Shadow. She held the Garnet Star tightly. Lillian looked her over, surprised to see she didn’t have so much as a scratch. Her own adrenaline was wearing off, and its ebbing brought the stinging of the slice across her chest and the aching of her shoulder and stomach to a head.

“Yeah, thanks to you!” spat Maria. The fire siren had suffered several more nicks and bruises, thankfully none of them too severe. She advanced on her squadmate with her eyes ablaze, barely visible through her messy bangs. “Where _were_ you?! We were getting slaughtered!”

Cerulean stiffened. “I was trying to see which one had the Star from a distance,” she said, quietly but menacingly. “So we wouldn’t have to kill them all.”

“Oh, from a distance!” repeated Maria sarcastically, balling her fists. Her hands were smoking. “That must have been _real_ nice, I wish I could have done that. But no, instead we had to fight off _seven_ god damned Koopas at once! They were trying to kill us, why do you care so much if they live or die!? I nearly had a sword shoved up my—“

“Maria. That’s enough.” Lillian stepped between her squadmates, fixing the fire siren with the hardest glare she could manage. “Go get healed up. Cerulean and I need to have a private conversation. That’s an _order_ ,” she added upon seeing Maria open her mouth to protest. The fire siren hesitated a moment more before huffing and slipping away.

“Lillian,” said Cerulean, for the first time sounding anxious. “You need to get healed too—“

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but this couldn’t wait.

“I need to return the Star to the desert,” insisted Cerulean.

“This will only take a moment.” Lillian crossed her arms, partly to apply pressure to the wound on her chest. “What were you really doing while Maria and I were fighting?”

“I _said_ what I was doing,” said Cerulean sharply.

“You’re lying to me.” Lillian swallowed, trying to keep the tremor of fury out of her voice. “If you really had been watching from a distance, you would have seen how outnumbered we were. You should have helped, we needed you!”

Cerulean said nothing, her gaze locked on the ground. Lillian took a deep breath before continuing, “Saying nothing of the fact that we were in danger and you were almost too late…you’re constantly late to patrols, you disobey me and don’t wait for me to give orders—as your captain, I‘m _furious._ But as your friend, I’m worried. You have to tell me what’s going on, Lee.”

“Nothing’s happening, Lillian.” Cerulean now straightened up and looked at Lillian directly. She sounded sincere. “I was just…worried. About the other squad, and that those Koopas would abuse the Star. We’d have to…to kill them, and you know how I feel about that.”

Lillian nodded slowly. She knew full well that Cerulean went out of her way to avoid killing, unlike most Shadow Sirens. Sometimes Lillian questioned this odd moral conviction, but right now, when she so freshly remembered the heaviness of the sword in her hands as she drove it through the shell of the Koopa, she found it hard to blame Cerulean. She clenched her hands tightly, hoping it would shake the sensation loose.

“You’re bleeding,” said Cerulean, still holding the Garnet Star close to her. “And I need to put this back…I promise I won’t show up late to patrols anymore, and I’ll wait for your orders, even if I know what they’ll be before you say them.”

Lillian’s eyes narrowed. These excuses weren’t cutting it, but she was no longer able to fight the exhaustion in her body and the stinging pain of the cut across her chest. “Fine. I’ll let you go this time…but I’m serious. This can’t happen again, or I’ll be forced to turn you over to Cerin.”

Cerulean nodded grimly. “Understood.”

“Go put the stupid Star back,” said Lillian, turning to the Palace. “Our next patrol is tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Cerulean saluted exaggeratedly and sank into the darkness below her, Garnet Star in hand. Lillian heaved a sigh, formulating a plan as she entered the Palace doors.

When she’d gotten her wounds cleaned up and the squad’s patrol for that day excused on account of her injuries, she met up with Maria in one of the secret Siren rooms. The fire siren both looked much better and seemed in much better spirits, her various shallow scratches covered in cotton held in place by wraps of fabric (Lillian had a similar bandage wrapped around her chest). She was giving the play-by-play of the battle to a couple Sirens whom Lillian recognized as a few of her fifth-generation siblings. What Lillian heard of her story was accurate, if a little hyperbolic. Lillian reached out and tapped Maria’s shoulder, and she froze, turning to her.

“Hi, Lillian,” she said lightly. She turned back to her siblings and exclaimed, “See, I told you she got sliced with a sword! No one who wasn’t buffed up with the power of a Crystal Star could have done that to her, she’s tougher than steel.”

One of her audience members shook her head—an earth Siren with similar curly brown hair, but much darker and the same length Maria’s had been before she chopped it all off. “You still got ravaged by a bunch of Koopas,” she said, her tone sounding mostly teasing.

“Shut up, Amber! They had the Garnet Star!” Maria retorted, crossing her arms.

“Speaking of,” Lillian interrupted before anyone else could jump in, “I need to have a word with you, Maria.”

She led the fire siren away from her siblings and all the other Sirens, into an empty corner of the room. “I need you to meet me tomorrow afternoon. Lee’s hiding something from me and I’m determined to find out what it is.”

The playful grin faded from Maria’s face, and she nodded solemnly. “I’ll be there, Lillian.”

“I’m glad I can count on you.” Lillian offered her a small smile before she left the room, her thoughts swirling like a tornado.


	3. Pesante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so as it turns out i'm not so much tweaking certain parts of certain chapters as much as i am completely rewriting them, so progress is way slower than i expected. hopefully it's worth it though, i'm glad to have improved.   
> also i hinted at a lot of lore that unfortunately isn't relevant to this story and so won't be explained here but i have every intention of doing something with it, somehow, eventually cause i'm too proud of it to keep it to myself

Everything Lillian knew was going down in flames. One moment she had been idly wandering the carpeted halls of the Palace of Shadow, consumed with troubling thoughts. The next, the world had exploded into chaos, echoing with screams of panic and pain, as four strangers broke into the sacrosanct Palace with weapons drawn. They blazed through the halls, dispatching all the Shadow Queen’s forces they came across as if they’d rehearsed it. Lillian had been momentarily blinded by a barrage of spells one of the intruders fired at her, but she’d had enough of her wits about her to veil herself in shadow until she recovered. Then she gave chase.

But the intruders may as well have been worlds in front of her. The lesser minions of the Shadow Queen’s army, Swoopulas and Dark Wizzerds, fled the opposite direction, yelling at Lillian to get out now, save herself. Their loyalties may have been so easily shaken, but Lillian was a Shadow Siren, and no coward at that. She ignored them.

The only thing that gave her pause was the crumpled form of something dark and nearly amorphous, slumped against the wall. As she turned to look she recognized with a jolt the sleek purple skin, the wispy tail, and the quickest flash of white as the mass shuddered. Then it dissipated like smoke, the shadows scurrying into the darkest corners of the room. It left no trace.

Lillian’s heart leaped into her throat and stuck there, choking her. The walls seemed to lean in closer to her as she stared numbly at where the shape had been. The invaders had managed to kill a Shadow Siren.

Now adrenaline filled her system, blocking out almost all her higher functions, besides the nagging thoughts wondering if that had been someone she knew, if she was next. Her instincts screamed at her both to protect the Queen and to save herself. Somehow she knew doing both wasn’t an option…but at the very least she wanted to warn other Sirens before it was too late, and so she charged onward, her heightening fear deafening her to everything but the roar of panic in her ears.

More dying Shadow Sirens littered the rooms she raced through. They seemed to hiss at her as she passed; it was the sound of the magic and the shadows that formed their bodies dissolving away, returning to the world from which it came. Tears jumped to the corners of her eyes. She thought of her sisters, her brothers, her squadmates…were they safe? Had she just passed them by? She didn’t know any healing spells, would she have even been able to help?

Someone had already thrown open the doors to the underground courtyard. This was a spacious area, and probably her favorite part of the entire Palace of Shadow. It felt the most like outdoors, the cavern that held it large enough that the ceiling wasn’t visible. Ordinarily Lillian found herself comforted by the cool gray pavement and the quiet moat of clear blue water surrounding the mysterious edifice that was Riddle Tower. But now the place was a war zone. The intruders had already moved on, but the destruction they left in their wake…horrified, Lillian stood frozen, captured by the destroyed brick, the shattered statues, the twisted scraps of metal that had once been elegant banisters along the bridges across the moat (thankfully those were still standing). Parts of the floor were smoldering and blackened, others were soaked, still others missing huge chunks. A cold chill swept over Lillian, rooting her to the ground—she was well familiar with what the aftermath of a battle with Shadow Sirens looked like. A bunch of them must have made a stand against the intruders here, and lost. She was alone in the room; had they managed to escape? Or had their bodies already melted away?

Some movement in her peripheral caught her attention. Crouched in the shadow of an upturned slab of stone that had once been a piece of the palace floor, there was a familiar face, one that was even alive.

“Cerin!” gasped Lillian, too relieved to have found a survivor to remember how much she disliked her. Cerin jumped at her voice, jerking her head upward as the plant siren approached. Her hands were trembling, her chest heaving, and her hair was disheveled enough that Lillian could see a trace of her eyes, wide with terror.

“Cerin, are you hurt? What’s going on?” Lillian asked, whatever relief she’d felt vanishing instantly. What happened to have reduced powerful, imperturbable Cerin to _this?_

“The Queen,” said Cerin vaguely, in a hoarse whisper. “She’ll die. We’ll all die.”

“What do you mean she’ll die?!” demanded Lillian.

“I tried to warn her and she didn’t listen,” said Cerin quietly as she drew in haggard breaths. “They’ll defeat her and kill us all.”

Lillian mentally flailed for a moment, too many questions hitting her at once, when she cringed as _something_ ripped through her mind, something furious yet agonized. It felt as if an explosion had gone off inside her own head. Cerin, too, yelped and brought her hands to her ears. The two Sirens locked eyes, each feeling the power resonate through them, rumbling like thunder through their very bones. Then it stopped, and the emptiness was devastating. Lillian felt as if she’d been gutted.

“We have to get out of here,” she heard herself saying, though she didn’t feel her mouth moving. She reached out to grab Cerin by the arm. Despite the obvious breach of Shadow Siren etiquette, Cerin didn’t react, and Lillian tugged her forward.

The two Sirens fled the Palace, their home crumbling around them. Lillian didn’t think, she _couldn’t._ She just watched the red-carpeted halls, the endless candles on the walls, pass her by in a blur. It seemed like hours until the two of them had broken through the magical barrier sealing the Palace of Shadow away from the rest of the world on the surface. They stood, paralyzed, in the center of the town the Queen had decimated with her rise to power twelve years ago. Nothing remained of the city but fallen stone columns; the air was stale and musty.

They weren’t alone, though. Groups of assorted minions huddled together, whispering, panicking. Some glanced up as the two sirens appeared, and a nearby Swoopula raised its voice: “Your Darkness, you’re alive!”

Lillian was confused for a moment when she remembered Cerin next to her and self-consciously released her arm. Of course the lesser minions would turn to her in a crisis, they were made to defer to her should the Queen…she couldn’t finish that thought.

Next thing she knew a Dark Wizzerd roughly shoved her aside as the minions swarmed Cerin, bursting with questions. Lillian was too stunned to react, watching helplessly as the crowd blocked Cerin from view, their voices clashing with each other to the point she could no longer pick out words.

A black mass of something swept in a circle through the mob, sending the minions flying; it was gone in an instant. Cerin stood in the middle as whatever the dark mass was retreated to her, vanishing without a trace. Her fingers were knotted in her hair and her breathing was shallow and uneven; her gaze seemed to be locked in the ground in front of her.

“You idiots best give her some space,” came a voice from behind (Cerin flinched). Relief flooded Lillian to see a Shadow Siren approaching from the barrier, backed by what looked like maybe six or seven more. The speaker Lillian recognized as a second generation Siren, one with earth powers judging by the brown of her hat and hair. Sticking close to her were three much younger Sirens; it took Lillian a moment to realize that they were the most recent (and final, now) generation, the seventh. They were all less than a year old, the youngest one at most a few months…they were mere children and they looked like it, hiding behind the leader with palpable fear. Besides those three siblings, the other Sirens were not ones Lillian recognized, but they looked older and were most likely part of a squad themselves. They muttered to each other, but their expressions were unreadable.

The leader approached, giving Lillian a respectful nod and waiting until Cerin had dragged her hands away from her face and turned to face her to speak. “The Queen’s dead, Cerin. We all know it. Do you have a plan?”

Cerin shook her head mutely. The leader continued as if she’d expected this, “Well, I do. We’re going to try to make a new society somewhere on the surface. It’s dangerous, but there’s nothing left for us here.” She looked directly at Lillian. “You’re free to join us. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Mother can’t be dead,” said one of the younger Sirens, looking up anxiously at the leader. Lillian found herself wondering what her element was. The light blue of her hat indicated water or perhaps ice, but her hair was a lighter purple than her skin that Lillian had never seen on a siren before…something seemed _off_ about her, subtly but still there. Her siblings, too…one of them was clearly a lightning siren, their blonde hair unmistakable, but they didn’t seem to be reacting to anything that was being said. And the third, the youngest, was most likely the element of fire. But contrary to their supposed fiery nature, they simply trembled, frightened tears coursing down their cheeks. Lillian heard rumors that the Queen had been making more frequent mistakes in the creation of newer Shadow Sirens than she used to. Lillian hadn’t concerned herself with matters like that, the idea of any Siren being ‘defective’ for any reason putting a bad taste in her mouth, but…maybe the gossipers had a point. Between the entire seventh generation, and whatever weirdness that had happened in the creation of Maria and her sister Amber years earlier…

Lillian remembered herself with a jolt. She straightened up and looked past the other sirens, ignoring however they were trying to explain to the young ones that the Queen was never returning. “Did any of you see a—a fire Siren a little shorter than me, or a water—“

She cut herself off with a cry of pain as the immensely powerful feeling returned. This time it felt less like an explosion in her head and more like wave after wave of increasingly powerful nausea. From the groans of pain that went up around her, she knew she wasn’t the only one.

“We’re getting out of here,” muttered the leading earth siren, her jaw set. She led her troop away, into the remains of the city. Lillian made to follow them when something snatched her by the wrist and held her in a vice grip. She jumped, but then remembered Cerin and turned to the older siren with a scowl.

“They can’t do that,” said Cerin in a whisper, dropping Lillian's arm to wrap her own around her abdomen. “They’ll die out there. All of us will, without the Queen.”

 “What other choice do we have?” Lillian asked, her irritation fading slightly as the worst of the nausea seemed to ebb away. “They’re right, we should join them—“

_“It’s suicide!”_ Cerin exploded; Lillian flinched away. “What’s even the point of trying to—to rebuild something that no longer exists!? We are _nothing_ without the Queen! Pretending otherwise is useless!”

Lillian was too stunned to speak for a few moments, conscious of the other groups of servants around them staring at Cerin, at her, after the outburst. She wanted to form a retort, say something that would make Cerin shut up, but when she turned to look at the smaller siren, Cerin had sunk to the ground, head in hands, muttering incomprehensibly to herself.

Lillian, however, refused to allow herself to break that easily. She scanned the crowd one more time, hoping, praying that she would see more Sirens, or better, one of her siblings or squadmates. But she recognized no one, and so she did the only thing she could think of doing and scooped up her superior in her arms, carrying her away from the ruins. Behind her back, an enormous door, a vibrant red and laced with gold, began to form in the entrance to the Palace of Shadow.

-

No words passed between them for days. Neither of them really did very much for that time, both trying to cope with the change that wracked them, destroyed all that was familiar. Lillian had heard stories of a great ball of burning gas in the sky called the sun, which brought blinding light and scorching heat to all it touched; these stories weren’t created by Shadow Sirens, but rather taken from the surface-dwellers, those who remembered the days before the Shadow Queen rose to power. Lillian herself knew nothing but the dark skies that were apparently the result of the Queen’s mere presence. Now that she was gone the sun had appeared, and it was blinding and perpetually hot. Lillian wandered around the sunbaked wasteland that had once held the magnificent capital city, before the Shadow Queen had razed it to the ground. All that remained were crumbling stone pillars. She managed to find just enough food to sustain both her and Cerin, but not much else. The two sat in silence, under the shade of a collapsed column, waiting for the sun to go down and contemplating this terrifying new world.

“How could this have happened?” said Cerin suddenly, in a voice so raw with disuse that it sounded more like a wheeze than anything.

“I don’t know,” said Lillian. She thought again of the Sirens who lost their lives in the Palace and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images to go away.

“We lost everything,” said Cerin in a trembling voice.

“I know.”

“We must bring her back.”

Lillian gave her an incredulous glance. “How?”

“The Crystal Stars. She created them to heighten her power, and thus they themselves are immensely powerful. Perhaps enough to resurrect her.”

“Where are the Stars?”

Cerin deflated. “With those who defeated her. She summoned them to help her…I’m sure they stole them from her and used them against her. It’s the only way they could have won.”

“So you want to take out the people who murdered not only our Queen, but a significant portion of her servants, many of whom are just like us,” said Lillian flatly.

“ _I_ am not just like you,” said Cerin indignantly. “I’m more powerful than a Siren of your caliber could ever hope to be—“

“That doesn’t mean much anymore,” Lillian retorted. “Just because the Queen created a hierarchy with you at the top doesn’t mean you’re not a Siren. You still bleed, just like me.”

Cerin fell silent again, to Lillian’s relief. But as the pervasive quiet stretched on and on, Lillian found herself getting antsy and uncomfortable. At last she stood up, saying, “We can’t stay here. There’s hardly any food or shelter, we might as well be in the middle of nowhere.”

“Don’t let me stand in your way,” said Cerin after a pause.

“You don’t mean you’re not coming with,” said Lillian, taken aback.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Lillian’s frustration boiled over again, flooding through her body and pooling in her face and fists. “You defeatist idiot, if I leave you alone, you’ll just let yourself waste away.”

“I thought your ultimate goal was to be rid of me,” said Cerin. There was somehow no malice in her tone, just cold matter-of-fact.

“It’s not,” the plant siren snapped. “While I’d _love_ to let you rot like you so desire to, I’m not going to let more Sirens die on my hands!”

“How noble of you,” Cerin scoffed. “Take your energy elsewhere. I need you as much as I need a hole in my head.”

“Keep running your mouth and you’ll get exactly that!” Lillian hissed. The ground in front of her shuddered and she dug her teeth into her lip, her rationality returning not a second too soon. Threatening the person she was trying to convince to join her was probably not the best idea. “I mean,” she corrected herself, a surge of bitter shame shooting up to her cheeks, “we’re both that much more likely to survive if we stick together. I’m not asking to be your friend, I’m asking that you cooperate so we don’t both starve here in this wasteland.”

“Go. I’ll only slow you down.” Cerin turned her back to Lillian, clearly unwilling to listen anymore. Lillian bristled—days ago she’d had no choice but to obey Cerin’s commands, but now she had no desire to hail the older siren as an authority of any kind.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” she demanded. “Or do I have to stroke your ego to get you to heed basic reason? Fine! You’re stronger than me, I need you more than you need me…” She bit back the disgusted growl that threatened to escape the back of her throat. “I might die without you,” she spat as if her words were covered in bile. “Now will you stop being passive and _useless_ so we can get out of here?!”

Tiny blades of grass were poking through the cracks in the ground. Lillian had just enough restraint left in her to not swear out loud at the sight, secretly deeply unnerved by how quickly she’d lost her cool. She was a captain of a squad, she was supposed to be composed and level-headed at all times, she couldn’t be snapping at every little—

She _was_ a captain. She _had been_ a captain. Her squad was dead. And so were her siblings, and her queen.

Her words had irked Cerin. The older Shadow Siren whipped around to face her again, and she was smoldering when she spoke, but Lillian didn’t hear a word she said. She dropped her gaze to the ground instead of Cerin’s enraged glower, watching the little blades of grass wilt and then crumble into nothingness. Then suddenly the ground was that much closer to her, she vaguely recognized her own fingers splayed out across the dry soil, but it all just felt so distant. She felt like she was floating away, or watching it all through a pane of clouded glass. When she blinked tiny droplets of water splattered across the ground. There was an aching numbness somewhere between her stomach and chest that seemed to swallow everything whole the more she paid attention to it.

Someone was calling her name. It sounded indistinct, as if they were miles and miles away, but then their volume and pitch increased enough that she could recognize other words. “Lillian! Someone’s coming, we have to go now—Lillian, answer me!”

She was being shaken now, tentatively at first but then violently. With a herculean effort she forced herself out of the fog. Now, suddenly, she felt the heat of the other Shadow Siren beside her, holding her upright. There was a mysterious Koopa standing in front of them. His skin was dark from time out in the sun and laced with scars. In his hand was a very long and very sharp blade, its point inches away from her heart. Cerin’s other hand was outstretched, and Lillian realized with a jolt that there was a hand made of darkness mimicking her motion, connected to the shadows that pooled naturally from Cerin’s tail. Its fingers reached out toward the Koopa, running parallel to his arm holding the sword, as if it were about to grab him by the shoulder. It was so painfully reminiscent of their late Queen that she almost sank into the fog again, but instead she blearily focused back on the Koopa.

He was sizing them both up, his eyes darting from Lillian’s face to Cerin’s. For several tense moments, no one moved. Then he sheathed his sword into the holster that was strapped across his dark green shell and gave both Sirens a sincere, if tired, smile.

“I’m done fighting you,” he said simply. “You’ve suffered enough.”

“Don’t patronize us,” snarled Cerin. The shadow hand shuddered, becoming less solid and dark in color but still opaque.

“No offense intended,” said the Koopa, shrugging. “Listen, I understand that we’re not exactly the best of friends right now, or, well, ever, but here’s a word of advice. Stay away from everyone who’s not like you. They’ll be hearing of your queen’s defeat and they’ll be infuriated at the way you’ve treated them…they’re not going to forgive you. Stay hidden, and you’ll stay alive.”

“Who do you think you are,” Cerin growled. “You murder our Queen in cold blood and then you have the nerve to tell us how to rebuild our lives that you ruined? I ought to gut you just for speaking to me that way!”

“Try it,” said the Koopa, his eyes narrowing. He put one hand warningly on the handle of his blade, but didn’t unsheathe it. “I don’t want to kill any more of your kind. I’m just offering information you may find useful. Besides, you’ll never see me again, I promise you that.”

“I should hope so,” snapped Cerin. “Leave us alone! You’re lucky I’m showing so much self-restraint or you’d be in a thousand pieces by now!”

“Good luck to you, too,” said the Koopa, his lips quirking in a small smile. He turned his back on them, and in the next instant he was gone, as if he had teleported away. Cerin relaxed, and the shadow hand dissipated in the sunlight. Lillian slowly lowered herself back to the ground, wiping at her eyes. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying.

“I should have killed him,” Cerin muttered, half to herself. “I’m going soft.”

“You remember my name,” said Lillian quietly.

“Of course I do,” said Cerin, almost indignantly, as she turned around to face the plant Siren. “You reported to me several times a week for nearly a decade. You were the captain of one of the best Shadow Siren squads at the Queen’s disposal. You stand out significantly more than most, is all.”

Lillian said nothing, still staring at the ground. The silence stretched out, but this time it was awkward. Cerin uncomfortably cleared her throat and said gruffly, “Are we going somewhere else or not?”

“Yes,” said Lillian after a surprised pause. Even more surprising was when Cerin offered her a hand to help her up. She took it, at a loss of what else to do.

“Let’s try this way,” said Cerin, taking her hand back and using it to point to the side of the sky where the sun set. “Be on the lookout for any suspicious characters…besides us.”

Lillian nodded wordlessly, rubbing her fingers along her palm where Cerin had touched it. She wasn’t used to physical contact by any means…Sirens generally weren’t a very touchy species, it was too dangerous to get close to anyone like that. The most contact that had passed between her and anyone else were brief touches on the shoulders and the like from her squadmates. But this new contact…it felt nice. Part of her recoiled for even thinking that to herself—not only had she enjoyed it, it was _Cerin_ of all people to administer it. In disgust she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and followed the older Siren as they set out toward the horizon.


	4. Staccato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote this chapter entirely from scratch so i hope it's worth it. in the process of rewriting the others too, it's going slow. i go back to school in a week, and this upcoming semester will be much harder than the last (hello organic chemistry), so i have no idea how frequent updates will be. in the meantime, enjoy

They moved under cover of night, always. Daybreak brought surface-dwellers out of hiding. Their weapons Lillian swore gleamed with the blood of Shadow Sirens, but when she rubbed her eyes it seemed they just reflected the damnable sunlight. Neither she nor Cerin dared to get close.

They didn’t speak very much, even to each other, unless it was necessary. Lillian had tried many times to engage the older siren in conversation and was brushed off more often than not, so she stopped trying. The silence was unbearable, but so was the rejection. Each night of travel bled into the next; she stopped keeping track, only knew time was passing by the changing in phases of the moon. Her dreams were violent and bloody, to the point she began to dread sleeping.

“You had a squad,” said Cerin, days after they’d begun their journey to nowhere. The sun was making its way down to the horizon, slowly but surely, sending both sirens into hiding from its light and warmth. Normally they tried to sleep when the sun was up, but Lillian had a feeling that Cerin was having difficulties too, not that she would dare show it. She glanced up at the older siren sharply, ignoring the lump forming in her throat as she registered the words.

“I did,” she said, hoping that her act of impartiality would mask the pain. She missed her squadmates, had never imagined losing either of them…she dug her teeth into her lip and turned away from Cerin.

“What was that like?”

The question was enough to bring Lillian’s attention back to the present. “What the hell kind of question is that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. Was Cerin _making fun_ of her?

“I just wanted to know,” said Cerin defensively. “I never had one. And you’re in considerable distress after losing yours, so I assume they were very important to you.”

While at first Lillian bristled, unable to believe that Cerin wasn’t being condescending, it began to dawn on her that Cerin didn’t have the _slightest_ clue how to talk to people. Which made sense, given that the older siren had spent most of her time alone outside the Queen’s door. This must really be her best shot at being…what? Sympathetic? Comforting? Lillian fought hard not to smile at the sheer ridiculousness of it all…and she found herself flopped in the grass, caught up entirely in explosive, uncontrollable laughter.

“What are you laughing at?!” came Cerin’s haughty demand in between Lillian’s frenzied gasps for air. It still took the plant siren several moments to calm herself enough to speak, propping herself up against a tree and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, still unable to prevent herself from smiling. “It’s just…you’re _unbelievably_ lost, and so am I, and—“ Another peal of giggling escaped her despite her attempt to regain control. “This is hopeless,” she gasped, her shoulders shaking. “Neither of us have _any_ idea what we’re doing out here, and we’re gonna get killed by surface-dwellers if we don’t starve to death first…“ She’d had more to say, but the words stopped coming. Her laughter devolved. The next thing she knew she was sobbing openly into her arms, in a way she couldn’t remember ever doing before.

It bled her dry. She could only stop when she had nothing left to give, and she glanced up with stinging eyes to see Cerin inches away, one hand held out as if she meant to touch her. She quickly withdrew her arm, almost self-consciously, and the panic on her face reminded Lillian vividly of when the Queen was attacked.

“Are you all right?” she asked. The uncertainty in her tone was jarring, alien.

“I think so,” Lillian replied hoarsely. No, she felt raw, and her skin stung, and her eyes burned, and some part of her insisted that she should be ashamed for having such a catastrophic meltdown in front of her superior. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dense weight that had settled firmly in her core felt almost like it had lessened, just a little bit, even if it throbbed when she thought of her squad, of the Queen.

“I don’t know what I said,” Cerin mumbled. She glanced away, crossing her arms.

“It wasn’t you,” Lillian said, surprised by her own honesty. “Not entirely, anyway…it just…everything kind of hit at once, and…”

Cerin nodded, but Lillian didn’t miss her refusal to look at her face. “I understand. It’s…terrible.”

“Horrible,” Lillian agreed with a shaky smile. She glanced up at the sky, seeing that sunset was still a ways off. “You…you want to know about my squad, then?”

“If you wouldn’t mind talking about it.”

Lillian shook her head. “It’s…hard, but maybe it’ll help.” She leaned back against the tree and heaved a sigh, trying to organize her thoughts. “There was Cerulean, a fourth-gen water Siren. And Maria, fifth-gen fire. I’m surprised they got along as well as they did…” She bit her lip, trying her best to ignore the ache in her chest. She’d never imagined having to refer to her squadmates in the past tense.

“I’m sure you had to play mediator,” said Cerin. The elder siren had settled herself a respectful distance away, in the shade of the same tree Lillian leaned against, looking at her with rapt curiosity.

“Oh, of course I did,” said Lillian with a quiet chuckle. “Part of my job as captain. But they were more in sync than you’d expect. There was this one time, months ago, when we were out training a newer squad near the Palace…”

She regaled Cerin with tales of her experiences, clinging to the good memories with everything she had, turning a blind eye to the negative thoughts that tugged at her attention. She couldn’t consider anything bad right now, or she’d break down again. When she’d run out of stories to tell, she fell silent, noting that the sun now barely touched the horizon; their cue to leave soon. The dying sunlight sent ripples of vivid color across the sky. She turned to Cerin and realized with a kind of weird thrill that the oldest siren had cracked the tiniest of smiles.

“Having a squad sounds nice,” she said with a wistfulness Lillian would have never expected from her. Her smile faded as quickly as it came. “You’ve probably realized I have no idea what I’m doing. Socially or otherwise. I would like to…” Her lips twitched, as if she were trying to fight off a grimace. “Apologize,” she said finally, glancing away.

Lillian said nothing, unsure she’d heard correctly. Cerin was _apologizing_ to her? And she wasn’t even about to die, or anything…

“If we are to survive, we must be able to communicate effectively,” Cerin continued, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Lillian’s stunned silence. “I realize that, well…communication in such a way doesn’t come to me as naturally as it must for you, and…”

“We can work it out,” Lillian interrupted, amused despite herself at whatever the hell Cerin thought she was doing. She hadn’t ever expected such sincerity from the older siren, or that she would readily admit her faults, or…or that they would end up stuck together, alone in a world that wanted them both dead.

“Oh.” Cerin seemed a little taken aback at being interrupted, but again she surprised Lillian by not appearing too offended. If anything, she relaxed a little…though clearly not too much, the tension in her shoulders was evident to Lillian even from here.

She waited a few more minutes, admiring how the grass looked in the dying daylight. For all the horrible things the sun brought, sometimes it wasn’t so bad. Lillian could hardly believe she was allowing herself to be so optimistic, but the alternative was just too much to bear. She inhaled deeply as she rose, feeling oddly serene with the fresh scent of nature around her. “We should get going,” she said to Cerin.

In the safety of the darkness, the two Shadow Sirens picked their way around the various surface-dweller settlements in silence.

-

Lillian jolted upright with a panicked gasp, the word out of her mouth before she could stop herself: “Cerulean!”

She’d meant to be quiet, realized her mistake the second she heard Cerin nearby roll over and mumble, still half-asleep, “What?”

“No!” Lillian cried, digging her fingers into her scalp. Any hope she’d had of being able to sleep today vanished like dew in the bright light of mid-morning. How could this have only occurred to her _now?_

“Lillian, what’s happening?” Cerin had finally woken up and now spoke with a chilling urgency. Lillian turned to face her; she was standing in the shade of a nearby tree, her face like stone, carefully scanning the sparse woodland around them for enemies. She thought they were being attacked…far too late for that, Lillian thought grimly. Such vigilance would have been far more useful several weeks ago.

Lillian swore suddenly, couldn’t help herself, when she realized who she was talking to. Of all the sirens for her to be stuck with when everything went to hell, Cerin was probably the very worst option. There was no way she could tell her, there was no way she would escape this encounter unscathed. The iron disciplinarian of the Shadow Sirens would not take kindly to this news.

“What’s happening?” repeated Cerin more forcefully. Her stony expression warped into a scowl. Lillian couldn’t tell if it was specifically directed at her.

“Nothing,” Lillian choked out, hoping that the older siren looked so angry because she was afraid they were in immediate danger. “N-nothing we can do anything about, that is…”

“What are you talking about?” Cerin relaxed minutely. She didn’t sit back down, instead crossing her arms and fixing Lillian with a glare that she felt more than saw.

Oh, what she would give to not have this conversation with the Shadow Queen’s most devoted creation. She looked away, guilt crashing down on top of her like a tidal wave. Lying to Cerin would end badly, she could just tell. But the truth was no better.

“I know why the Shadow Queen fell,” she managed at last.

Cerin’s lips curled back in a snarl. “So do I. A bunch of surface-dwellers revolted and stole the Stars from her.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Lillian snapped, yanking at her own hair. “Oh, god, she knew the whole time, and she told me about it, I should’ve done something—I could’ve saved us all!” She stood up, her agitation fueling her adrenaline and her powers. The grass underfoot grew slightly thicker where she touched it as she stormed around their sunlit clearing, trying to burn off the excess energy and keep her head from exploding.

“Lillian.” Something in Cerin’s tone gave her pause. It was firm, which wasn’t a surprise—years of bossing around other Shadow Sirens made Cerin almost always sound cool and in control, even if now Lillian knew that was mostly a front. No, the odd thing about it now was that she sounded…almost gentle. It was enough to make Lillian freeze for a moment, and in that instant, all of her frustrated uneasiness dissipated. Cold, chilling fear immediately replaced it.

“You’re going to kill me,” Lillian moaned before she could stop herself, her fingers tightening in her hair.

“What did you _do?”_ Apparently even Cerin felt this was a little too much, and she backtracked with a wince, “I mean, I don’t think you could have possibly done anything to warrant me killing you.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lillian muttered.

“Just tell me what happened. Please.”

Lillian crossed her arms, trying to make it look like she wasn’t hugging herself. “I kept her secrets when I shouldn’t have. Directly from you, even. I…” Her mouth went dry, and it was several more moments until she worked up the courage to speak again.

“Cerulean. My old squadmate. She…” A frustrated growl left her lips before she could stop herself, and she reached up to tug at her hair again. “One of our first missions as a squad was to the northern forest. We met a Koopa there who claimed to be an explorer…we should have killed him but we didn’t, just told him to leave. I sent Cerulean after him alone because I forgot to make sure he didn’t see the Star. I didn’t tell you about any of that because I knew you’d lose your mind.” She didn’t see the point in pulling any punches now, when Cerin was the end of this story away from physically attacking her. She risked a glance at the older siren and found that she was expressionless, listening intently.

“Months later Cerulean got harder and harder to find outside of our missions,” Lillian continued apprehensively. “She kept showing up late and leaving as soon as possible, like she had somewhere else to be. It took a while, probably more than it should have, but we eventually caught her…” She grimaced involuntarily. “In a…compromising position with that same Koopa. I was _livid._ She begged me not to tell, said she wouldn’t see him anymore…I gave her the benefit of the doubt even though I knew she wouldn’t stop, and she didn’t, it was obvious. But…” She gave a halfhearted, nervous laugh. “She still did her job, so it…wasn’t like it was any of my business as captain. And she was my friend, too, I didn’t want to turn her in for treason.”

She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to hurt. Here came the bombshell. “I think that very Koopa and the one that helped kill the Queen were in contact. They must have figured out that the Crystal Stars were critical and plotted to use them to take her down. The last time I saw Cerulean was the day before they struck…she was nervous and antsy the entire time we did our patrol, and when we were done she told me and Maria to get away from the Palace as soon as possible. Then she vanished. Her Koopa paramour must have had the decency to warn her before the attack…and she warned me and Maria, but we didn’t listen. She’s a traitor, and I’m a fool.”

Unending, tense silence concluded her story with a finality that she felt was her own death knell. Cerin said nothing, didn’t even move. Lillian found herself wondering if she should just leave now, save Cerin the trouble of chasing her off.

“You knew your squadmate was fraternizing with the enemy,” Cerin said at last, her voice colder than ice. “Did it never occur to you that she was endangering us all by getting friendly with those who wish to see us dead?”

“Of course it did!” Lillian protested. “I just—I didn’t think it would have led to _this,_ I—I thought she was more of a danger to herself, not everyone—“

“And you let her get away with it,” Cerin growled. Her fists were clenched and her voice dripped venom. Lillian thought she was seeing things for a moment; a dark, shadowy mist was emanating from somewhere, swirling around where Cerin’s tail connected to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Lillian whispered, panic embedding itself in her windpipe and preventing her from saying anything more.

Cerin took a long, deliberate breath in. Her hands twitched; the surrounding mist seemed to thin out ever so slightly. She was muttering something too quietly for Lillian to hear.

“No,” she said at length. Her tone was still flat, but less malicious. “It wasn’t your fault. Not directly, at least.” She crossed her arms and scowled at the ground beneath her as the mist melted away. “It’s the fault of the so-called heroes that the Queen’s gone. _They_ held the sword. Not you, nor your friend. It’s not like it matters, anyway…it’s over.”

She sounded more like she was trying to rationalize herself through this mess, but Lillian relaxed anyway, allowing herself to believe that Cerin maybe wouldn’t try to kill her after all. She blinked, suddenly aware that she’d been standing in the sun this whole time, and her skin was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. Slowly she inched away from Cerin, with relief finding another tree to hide behind. The older siren didn’t seem to be paying her much attention anymore…she was idly pulling at the wrists of her gloves, the look on her face unreadable. Lillian shivered despite the heat.

Neither of them spoke for so long that Lillian half dozed off, her exhausted mind but frantic thoughts creating an impermeable haze of grogginess that didn’t go away even when Cerin broke the silence.

“Why?”

“Why what?” replied Lillian unthinkingly.

“Why did she betray her own species?” asked Cerin, her voice trembling. Lillian thought it was with anger at first, but there was something…fragile about it. “She gave up everything we had, our entire empire, for some common _Koopa.”_ She spat the word as if it were a slur.

Lillian didn’t answer for a long time, knowing that the truth would just enrage her further. But then…maybe she deserved to know.

“She said she loved him.”

Now Cerin was uncomfortably quiet. Lillian braced herself.

“You’re not serious, are you?” the older siren said, disbelief mutating into disdain. “She turned her back on every Shadow Siren in existence because she believed some fairy tale for surface-dwellers?” She let out a disgusted scoff. “From the way you talked about her, you made her sound much smarter.”

Lillian’s lingering exhaustion melted away as her temper sparked back to life at the remark. “Shut up! You didn’t even know her!”

“Why are you still so eager to jump to her defense?” Cerin shot back. “You know what she did was foolish. Buying into such a ridiculous surface-dweller fantasy…Shadow Sirens know nothing of love.”

“She did,” Lillian retorted. “She thought so, at least.”

“And look where that got her,” sniffed Cerin. “She’s no better off than the rest of us. Our Queen is still gone, our species is dying out—“ She cut herself off with a harsh, barking laugh. “Did she even consider that her precious Koopa may have accidentally seen her eyes? The bewitched swear up and down that their love is true, you know, even if it is quite literally artificial…”

Lillian burned for Cerulean’s sake, didn’t even know why she was offended at the insinuation. “Just shut up!” she snapped. “You can resent her all you like, I don’t care, but I’m not going to listen to you talk about her like that when you said yourself that it doesn’t matter anyway. The Queen’s still dead.”

She’d managed to hit a nerve, she didn’t miss the silhouette of the other siren go rigid in the shadow of the other tree, but she didn’t care. She crossed her arms, stubbornly deciding to ignore the other siren at least until she’d calmed down. But what Cerin had said nagged at her despite her attempts to push all thoughts out of her mind.

“How do you know what it’s like to control someone?” she asked when she could no longer bear her own curiosity. She had never used the trick herself and saw it strictly as a last resort. How had Cerin had more experience?

“The Queen told me,” said Cerin hollowly. “There was no one to teach me about my abilities but her. Succeeding generations like yourself had other Sirens to learn from. But not me.”

Lillian didn’t probe further. She slept sporadically, with the sun continuing to climb higher in the sky. Cerin woke her at sundown, and she politely pretended not to notice the tear tracks down the older siren’s face or the way her voice was rougher and much more tired-sounding.

“I’m sorry I insulted your squadmate,” she said abruptly as the two walked through the darkness, breaking their usual pact of silence while traveling. “I spoke in anger. It’s not her who deserves my ire.”

Lillian was too surprised to respond at first, but she quickly found herself and shrugged. “I see why you would be angry at her…I was too.” The irony of Cerin apologizing for insulting someone was nearly enough to make her smile.

Cerin grunted. “I, for one, am tired of being at your throat over mere words. Our energy is much better spent toward survival. Can we agree to try not to kill each other?”

“Deal.” Now Lillian actually did smile, and when she sneaked a sideways glance at Cerin she thought the older siren carried herself differently, more upright. The change in posture returned to her a trace of the powerful, commanding aura she had emanated when the Queen was alive…of all the things Lillian missed about her life under the Queen, she hadn’t imagined Cerin’s attitude would ever be one of them. Yet it gave her hope that maybe one day, the Shadow Sirens could find some semblance of normalcy in this world. Nothing would ever be exactly the same, probably…but they could start something new, something different, something better.

Cerin caught her smiling and, slowly, hesitantly, returned it.


	5. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have a lot to say about this one for once. it's coming along, i think three more chapters left.   
> gay update: getting gayer  
> also please appreciate the tiny hints at the surrounding lore it means a lot to me

A loud shout roused Lillian from a nap she hadn’t meant to take, and she flung herself upright, a twisted tangle of vines bursting out of the ground before her. She spun around, her arms out, ready to send the vines after whatever the threat was, only to see a green-spotted Toad pinned against the trunk of a tree by an enormous shadowy hand, its fingers loosely around the Toad’s throat. Cerin stood before the Toad, her hands behind her back, tossing a glare over her shoulder as Lillian rose.

“You were supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I’m sorry,” Lillian said, a pang of guilt making her vine cluster falter and wither away. The Toad’s eyes flicked to each siren as they spoke. Then they bulged as the hand tightened its grip.

“Is he even armed?” Lillian asked, nearly recoiling at the face the Toad was making. Something about choking him to death was putting her off, for all they knew he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Cerin pointed wordlessly at something sticking out of the ground in front of her—it was the handle of a spear, its head buried in the ground, as if the Toad had dropped it when the hand slammed him against the tree. The palm of Cerin’s glove was red.

“What happened?!” Lillian demanded, approaching the older siren. To her surprise, Cerin shrank away, muttering something like “only a flesh wound.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s fine,” Cerin snapped, placing her hand over the right side of her abdomen as she backed away from Lillian. “He only grazed me, now stop distracting me so I can—“

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lillian said, advancing on her and grabbing her left wrist before she could pull away. Reluctantly Cerin dropped her other hand from the injury, giving Lillian a baleful glower that she pointedly ignored. The cut was shallow, and while it was bleeding freely it didn’t seem to be causing Cerin much distress, so Lillian released her wrist.

“I told you,” Cerin sniffed petulantly. She covered the cut with her hand again and avoided Lillian’s gaze at all costs—it almost looked like her face was tinged pink.

“Your intestines could be falling out and you’d pretend to be fine until your dying breath,” Lillian retorted. “Don’t act like I’m in the wrong for making sure you weren’t going to die on me.”

“I’m not a _child_ , Lillian, I am perfectly capable of judging—“ Cerin’s voice died as the two sirens turned again to the tree. The shadow hand and the Toad were both gone, though fortunately the spear remained.

Cerin spat some choice words Lillian wasn’t even aware had been in her vocabulary.

“You let him get away,” she said, tempted to laugh but thinking better of it.

“You distracted me!” Cerin protested, her face flushing again. “If you hadn’t been fretting over a stupid cut, I could have popped his head off and we’d be done with it!”

“That ‘stupid cut’ might still kill you if it gets infected,” Lillian replied, crossing her arms. “I’m not sorry.”

“We’ll both be sorry soon,” Cerin snapped. “As we speak, that Toad is running off to his village and telling them all to come here and kill us!”

“Then we leave,” Lillian said, shrugging. “It’s for the best, anyway. We need to find something to clean your wound with. We’d still have to do that even if you killed him.”

Cerin scowled as she stooped down to pick her hat off the ground. “Didn’t like this place anyway,” she grumbled as Lillian brushed past her, indicating her to follow through the forest.

“Sour grapes much?”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re oddly lackadaisical given that I just got stabbed because you passed out.”

Cerin actually didn’t sound all that mad, but Lillian winced anyway. She was right, of course, it had been her turn to stay up just in case something exactly like this happened…

“Forget it,” Cerin grunted a moment later. “It’s been an exhausting week, of an exhausting month, of an exhausting lifetime. I can hardly blame you for falling asleep. Besides,” she added with a huff that almost sounded like laughter, “that idiot couldn’t have killed me if there were a target over my heart. I was dead asleep and he still _barely_ managed to hit me.” 

Lillian cracked a smile despite herself. “He must have been so nervous being near a demon that his aim was off.”

Cerin laughed. The sound was almost musical, and something inside Lillian’s chest thumped like it was trying to break free. Confused and a little worried, she brought a hand to her chest as if it would smother the feeling. Suddenly at least half of her was _dying_ to hear that sound again, was melting at the mere thought, and she didn’t hear what else Cerin said after her laughter subsided.

As they meandered through the trees, Lillian tried to distract herself by looking for something she could use to dress Cerin’s wound. She could really just slap any leaf that wasn’t poison ivy on it if things were desperate, but some plants had more innate medicinal properties than others, and avoiding infection was the goal. She became so engrossed in this search that she didn’t hear Cerin trying to get her attention until the smaller siren threw her hand out in front of her, smacking her in the lower abdomen.

“Quiet,” Cerin hissed. “We’re not alone.”

Lillian was about to say something sarcastic when she saw a flash of white through the undergrowth and immediately understood. The dark mist was beginning to swirl around Cerin’s tail. Taking it as permission to prepare herself, she clenched her fists and a Piranha Plant emerged out of the dirt, spilling earth from its red and white spotted head and experimentally snapping its jaws.

The crunch of a twig behind her was her only warning, but it was warning enough. She whirled around and sunk her fist into the face of a yellow-spotted Toad, sending him stumbling backward. The Piranha Plant she’d summoned lunged forward. It aimed for the Toad’s arm, but narrowly missed, instead snatching the spear he wielded away from him and snapping it clean in half. Now unarmed and sporting a black eye, the Toad made the wise decision to flee further into the forest.

She turned back to Cerin, half expecting the older siren to be fighting off an assault of her own, but there was no sign of any additional enemies. Cerin was staring at her, her mouth slightly open, and when Lillian made eye contact she turned away quickly.

“That can’t be all,” she muttered, suspiciously scanning the surrounding forest.

Lillian felt similarly. Her skin was prickling, as if she were being watched, as if the two of them were surrounded. But she didn’t see anything, nor did Cerin…she heard the rustling behind her of the Piranha Plant, growing bored and searching for something to sink its teeth into. Just in case, she clenched her fist and summoned another.

“Watch your back,” she hissed to the other siren as she drew closer. The premonition was strangling, and she paused a moment to collect herself, try and calm her frantic pulse.

In one fluid motion, Cerin whipped around, raising a black hand out of the mist at the ground and bringing it down hard. It looked like she’d aimed it at nothing but empty ground, but as the hand connected, something let out a howl of pain.

“Invisible!” Cerin barked, forming two more hands out of the mist that surrounded her. Lillian tensed, silently commanding her two Piranhas to go after whatever lurked behind herself. However the surface-dwellers had managed to make themselves invisible, it must have been wearing off, as the thing Cerin had just struck flickered back into visibility: a red-shelled Koopa, knocked over on their back, rocking and flailing in a desperate bid to get back on their feet. They retracted their head and limbs into their shell just in time for one of Cerin’s shadowy manifestations to grab the shell and fling it into the wilderness.

Lillian almost jumped as one of her Piranhas made a hideous gurgling noise, and she watched as it wilted, oozing a viscous green substance from a gash in its stem just beneath its head. The snapping of jaws from the other and a muffled yelp of pain told her that the other, fortunately, had found its mark. Before she could react, the war cry of a stranger rang out in the otherwise near silence: “Kill the source, not the spells!”

With those words, the entire forest burst to life. Lillian let out an undignified screech as the blade of a sword came out of nowhere, slicing through the air where her neck had been half a second ago. The weapon’s wielder was still invisible, and the most she could do was scramble out of the way as it came at her again, missing narrowly.

But the element of surprise only had so much effect, and Lillian’s initial panic at being snuck up on gave way to fury. Three Piranha Plants erupted out of the soil before her, descending upon the hidden surface-dweller without hesitation. She whirled around, expecting an attack from behind, only to see Cerin and remembered belatedly that the older siren was already hurt. Despite this handicap, however, Cerin was holding her own—four surface-dwellers, their invisibility melting away with each passing second, had abandoned all pretense of strategy and were now attacking recklessly. To her credit, Cerin wasn’t even playing offensively; each time the villagers lunged at her, she created a short-lived barrier of black to intercept them and throw them backward. She was holding back, she must have been. Her face was twisted in a concentrated grimace.

Lilian might as well make herself useful. She pointed at the ground in front of one of the surface-dwellers, another Koopa, as they ricocheted off Cerin’s shadowy barrier and fell with a thump. No sooner had they connected with the ground than it exploded with vines, snaking up their legs, rendering them immobile for the time being. Her trio of Piranhas flanked her again, their teeth stained red. Whether their victim had survived the assault didn’t concern her. She pointed at the immobilized Koopa, and the carnivorous plants moved as one as they advanced on the surface-dweller.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, her paranoia getting the better of her. There couldn’t be too many more enemies, with most of them focused on Cerin rather than Lillian herself. There was movement in her peripheral, and she met the Goomba who charged at her with a thicket of brambles that swallowed them whole. If they moved too much, they risked getting their eyes scratched. Satisfied, she turned back to Cerin and nearly choked at the blade inches from the older Shadow Siren’s back.

It happened all at once. Lillian thought she’d screamed, “No!” but she couldn’t have been sure. The dagger pierced Cerin’s skin, and the oldest siren froze, dawning horror creeping in slow motion across her face. The Toad behind the dagger wore a manic grin, his eyes ablaze, but the fire of bloodlust died when the ground directly beneath him rumbled. In the next instant, he was thrown into the air by the explosive emergence of the largest Piranha Plant Lillian had ever seen, much less summoned. It was four times as tall as the Toad it tossed aside, its teeth as long as the dagger that remained half embedded between Cerin’s shoulder blades.

Lillian stared at the handle of the dagger, cold fear and burning fury clashing within her. Reacting to her unintended thoughts, the giant plant reached over and plucked the dagger from where it was buried in Cerin’s back, with a tenderness Lillian had never seen from an organism that lacked a brain. Then it tossed its head back and the dagger disappeared into its mouth. When it swung around to face the offending Toad, he scrambled to his feet and fled, screaming. The other surface-dwellers, who had watched the plant rise out of the ground like the earth itself had split apart to birth it, followed suit. Within moments, only the two sirens and the giant Piranha (the three regular-sized ones must have died while Lillian wasn’t paying attention) remained.

Cerin swayed, and Lillian was beside her in an instant. She offered a hand for the older siren to lean on; for a moment she took it, and Lillian was almost comforted by the warmth of her body. Not dead yet. But then, with a visible effort, Cerin drew herself up to stand without any support, her fists clenched tightly and her breathing ragged. The wound was deep, gushing blood that ran down her back and pooled at the ground like the shadows she cast. The sight made Lillian dizzy, and her mind ground to a halt, panic blotting out her good sense. Her worst nightmare as a captain was staring her in the face. Had the dagger struck her spine? How long until she bled out? Who else would Lillian have to lose until the fates were satisfied?

The oldest siren turned slowly, past Lillian, to face the Piranha Plant. She bowed her head, murmuring something so quietly Lillian couldn’t catch any words despite being right beside her. The background rustling of the plant’s leaves faded away as it grew deathly still. An involuntary shiver coursed through Lillian, and she took a step back as Cerin raised both hands, palms toward the sky, and curled her fingers inward. The plant stiffened, trembled, seized. Where its stem met the ground, some amorphous mass, purplish-gray in color, rose without rupturing the soil beneath. The more Lillian looked at it, the more she thought it resembled a horde of mindless, grasping hands…

It made a ghastly noise, that of a hollow, dying moan, sending more instinctive shivers down Lillian’s spine. Then, at a pace that indicated it was in no hurry, it began to crawl up the Piranha Plant’s stem. The plant jerked back to life and thrashed, trying to shake it loose, but the thing held firm. Lillian’s stomach twisted as she recognized individual fingers digging into the flesh of the stem with such force that the skin broke. The plant wilted, its tongue lolling.

With another horrid moan, the mass of hands sank back down into the ground—into the shadow the plant was casting—dragging the Piranha with it. Lillian watched, mesmerized, unable to tear her gaze away until the plant’s red and white head had vanished into the darkness. It left no trace.

Cerin dropped her arms and stood straight up, rolling her shoulders. The wound in her back was scabbed over, though the skin around it was inflamed and rivulets of drying blood still trailed down her spine. The cut on her side she’d sustained earlier had also formed a scab, though that one looked less angry.

“It’s over,” said Cerin, her voice slightly more hoarse than normal.   

“What did you _do?”_ Lillian asked, unable to help the horror creeping into her own.

Cerin glanced away guiltily, as if Lillian were accusing her of something—maybe she was. “That was…a trick the Queen taught me. I believe only she and I are capable of it…” Lillian gave her an unamused frown, and she cleared her throat. “I drained it of its life essence. Then I channeled that power to speed up my own healing. It’s not at all efficient, but…”

“The Queen could do that?” _Cerin_ could do that? Lillian’s stomach turned over again.

Cerin nodded, her face expressionless. “She told me she used it often whilst escaping from her tribe, before she created me. I’m not sure if she intended to pass it on to me, but I ended up with it. If she meant to, she clearly thought better of it by the time the second generation came around.” She seemed to catch herself going off the rails and shook her head slightly. “It’s not something I enjoy using, or even want to use with any frequency. You felt it just being near me, didn’t you? Magic like that is…not to be toyed with.”

Lillian’s brain helpfully supplied her the image of the horrific mass again, but she managed to suppress her shiver this time. “It didn’t even heal you completely,” she said at a lack of anything else.

“It works best with the life force of sentient beings,” Cerin said matter-of-factly, reaching behind her and running her fingers along the scab. Lillian didn’t miss her wince slightly. “A plant of that size was just barely enough. Two or three surface-dwellers, on the other hand, would have patched me up good as new. But that would take an immense amount of power, and…the more you use it, the more it consumes you. It’s far too dangerous to make a habit of using.” She paused. “I probably should have asked before I leeched your Piranha into nothing. I’m sorry.”

Lillian shook her head. “It wouldn’t have lived very long anyway…the ones I summon are bound to me. They disappear if I leave them alone.”

Cerin made an interested murmuring noise. “There’s much I don’t know about the magical capabilities of other Sirens. I think we can learn a lot from each other.”

Something about her tone made Lillian’s chest thud again, almost painfully. She was thankful Cerin didn’t notice how she tensed.

“We can’t stay here,” Cerin said after another moment, reaching up and tugging the brim of her hat further down to keep the sunlight out of her eyes. “Are you up for traveling a little more?”

“Only if you are,” Lillian said, trying to adopt a flippant tone to hide her lingering unease. “I’m not the one who got knifed twice.”

Cerin laughed again, just as genuinely as the first time, and Lillian inhaled sharply, the pounding in her chest blocking out almost everything else.

“Don’t worry about me,” Cerin said when her laughter subsided. “I’m not much worse off than before this all happened. It hurts, but I’m not bleeding anymore, and that’s what’s important.” At Lillian’s scowl she added, “Don’t give me that look, I know where my limits are and I haven’t reached them yet. In the meantime, we’d best leave before the surface-dwellers decide to try again.”

Lillian kept a close eye on Cerin as they traveled, watching her carefully for signs of fatigue, but it was Lillian herself who had to stop first—she didn’t receive so much as a scratch during the fight, but she’d used a lot of her magic and that took a toll on her energy. Cerin volunteered to take first watch, against Lillian’s better judgement, but she conceded anyway.

Her dreams were full of starlight and darkness, the moaning of a horde of pale, groping hands, Cerin’s quiet but melodious chuckling. When it was her turn to take watch, she barely took her eyes off the older siren and waited until well past nightfall to wake her. She needed the rest…and Lillian needed time to think.


	6. Furioso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. yeah. here's this. is it obvious that my favorite part of the game (and really the marioverse in general) is twilight town and its surrounding areas it's very much my Aesthetic

The western dark forest was their next destination. Lillian’s past patrols had brought her there more times than she could count, their mission to secure the Ruby Star hidden among the pines. Part of her wondered what had happened to the Stars after the Queen’s demise…the dreaded “heroes” couldn’t hold on to them forever, could they?

It seemed that the rest of the world had readily adjusted to life without the Shadow Queen, leaving the Shadow Sirens alone and floundering, as usual. The plant life seemed much more vibrant in the sunlight than it ever had in the darkened skies of an era that had passed. The air was always warmer, sweeter even. Lillian had agonized with herself for months, knowing that she should hate the changes but unable to bring herself to. Finally she allowed herself to admit that she liked how the plants thrived. The Queen’s presence hadn’t been the best for them.

Naturally, just as she had gotten used to this changing world, the rules suddenly no longer applied. She didn’t know what she’d expected of the dark forest, but it hadn’t been for the sunlight that she’d grown to love and hate in equal measure to have vanished completely. In its place in the sky hung the moon, a glowing yellow eye peering down from the dusky purple heavens. The area was dark and cool, almost chilly. Lillian rubbed her gloved hands along her arms, somewhat annoyed at herself for letting the cold get to her. Quiet, subtle noises filled the air around the traveling sirens: the wind breathing through the stiff branches of the pines, the shifting of the fallen cuticles as they treaded across them, here and there the sharp caw of a crow or low hooting of an owl.

Cerin had walked a few paces in front of her, and when she turned her head to look around, she was grinning from ear to ear. Lillian had grudgingly grown accustomed to the fluttering of her chest whenever Cerin smiled, but this time felt different. She’d attributed the sensation to general anxiety previously, but now the feeling seemed less vague, more directed at Cerin’s uncharacteristic toothy smile. She looked…a step away from unhinged.

“Look at this,” she said, nodding to the surrounding pine trees as if greeting an old friend. “Here, it’s like nothing ever happened—why didn’t we just come here to begin with? You knew about this place, Lillian, you should have said something, honestly.”

“Must not have occurred to me,” Lillian said, more testily than she meant to. She hadn’t realized the dark forest would stay dark even after the Queen fell. Now that they were here, she could see why Cerin liked it so much, though to Lillian herself, something didn’t seem quite right. The vegetation was too homogenous for her liking; all the trees that were alive were the same dark pines. The grass was thin and grew in tangled clumps, its color ranging from a deep, cool green to a dying brown. She found herself missing the deciduous trees and wildflowers of the woods before, where the sun shone…where there were surface-dwellers wanting her and Cerin’s heads on pikes, she reminded herself. She couldn’t ask Cerin to go back into danger because Lillian wasn’t fond of the atmosphere and was bored of the flora. She followed the smaller siren deeper into the forest, training her eyes on the scar between her shoulder blades. Enough time had passed that the wound had healed and the scab had fallen off, but the faint white line reminded Lillian of the “Piranha incident” every time she looked at it.

Cerin had been talking this whole time. Lillian kicked her brain back into the appropriate gear in time to catch her saying, “What’s stopping us from living out the remainder of our lives here?”

Lillian was thankful that it sounded like a rhetorical question, because she had some answers she knew Cerin didn’t want to hear. Cerin was already so taken with the area, yet something in Lillian balked at the thought of staying here, permanently. She wished she could put this feeling to words…come to think of it, there were very many things she wished she could communicate.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Cerin asked, turning back to Lillian with an expression of earnestness. “What’s it like in terms of surface-dweller population?”

Lillian shrugged. “Not a lot of people choose to live here, for obvious reasons…”

“Excellent!” Cerin beamed, the sight of which was almost enough to spark the familiar hazy warmth that spread thickly through Lillian’s chest. Almost. “No sunlight, no surface-dwellers, no disturbances—the only way this place could be more tailored specifically to Shadow Sirens is if it were the Palace.”

“What are we going to do about food?” Lillian asked. She’d hesitated to rain on Cerin’s parade so far, but if the older siren was this serious about settling here, she needed to point out all the potential flaws in her plan. “There aren’t many surface-dwellers out here for a reason. They can barely grow anything without sunlight, and we can’t steal what they don’t have.”

“These trees seem to be doing well enough,” said Cerin, pointedly stepping up to one and giving its trunk a light pound with her fist. “If they can grow out here, I’m sure we can find some way to support ourselves. It’s just the two of us, not an entire village.”

“These are evergreens, Cerin,” Lillian said, folding her arms and leveling a glare at the older siren that she knew would go unnoticed. “They’re especially hardy, they’re meant to survive months of cold and snow. Food-bearing crops won’t last in a place like this.”

Cerin’s smile melted away at her words, and she gave a bad-tempered huff. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m a plant siren, idiot. If anyone would know, it’s me!” Lillian didn’t know who she was more exasperated with—Cerin for being so damn stubborn, or herself for enabling her.

Fortunately, the older siren seemed to finally get a clue. She dropped her hands, self-consciously tugging at her gloves. “Fine,” she mumbled to the ground. “It just…seemed so nice.”

Lillian couldn’t relate, though she also couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel any sympathy at how utterly dejected Cerin seemed. “I didn’t say there wasn’t _anyone_ out here,” she said, trying not to appear as reluctant as she felt saying it. “A tiny settlement of surface-dwellers, more toward the southwest than our patrols ever went. They must have made it work somehow. If we can find a way to sustain ourselves out here, then…then we can stay.”

Cerin’s face split in another grin, less manic, so much more genuine. Lillian suddenly felt as if she were trying to swallow her own tongue.

“We can make this work too,” the smaller siren declared, folding her hands behind her back and turning her gaze to the ground as she paced. “It can’t be too hard, or the surface-dwellers wouldn’t have been able to manage it. We’ll need land, obviously, away from all these trees…”

Lillian watched her cut a line through the fallen pine needles, listened to her muttering quiet until she was talking to herself, and couldn’t help but smile. She’d noticed these quirks and found them…endearing, not that she would _ever_ say so out loud. Cerin may have once prided herself on being mysterious and unreadable, but Lillian had taught herself her language. She knew that she paced and talked to herself, like now, when deep in thought or especially agitated. She pulled at her gloves when nervous and wasn’t very fond of eye contact most of the time. Lillian almost laughed to herself. Who knew that she’d end up being able to read the untouchable, ultimate Shadow Siren like a book?

Cerin had stopped her pacing and was staring at her. Heat rose to Lillian’s cheeks immediately, and she knew she had been too late to wipe the stupid smile off her face. Cerin’s eyes may have been hidden, but Lillian just knew she was raising an eyebrow. Embarrassment made her scowl in return, but if Cerin was perturbed, she didn’t show it.

“Let’s see if we can find a more suitable place to stay for the day,” the older siren suggested. She gave the sky a brief glance. “Night. Whatever.”

Lillian followed her in silence, afraid to say too much more, afraid of the thoughts that chased each other around and around in her mind.

-

It had taken her a surprisingly long time to fall asleep, despite the soothing darkness of the surrounding twilight and the coolness of the air. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but she bolted upright as if she’d been electrocuted. When her wits returned to her a second later, she remembered the dark forest, remembered Cerin had volunteered again to take first watch. She twisted around, expecting to find the other siren seated somewhere behind her, but instead coming face to face with the black bark of a pine tree. She stood up, willing her pounding heart to calm itself as she circled the tree. She was alone. Her pulse did not slow.

“Cerin?” she called through the forest against her better judgement. The ringing of silence in her ears was her only reply—no wind whispered through the rigid needles of the pines, no distant caws of lonely crows pierced the air. She’d never known a forest to be so deathly quiet. It was all she could do to manage not to shudder, though her skin still exploded into goosebumps.

She’d just wait here for Cerin to get back, then. She crossed her arms and pulled them tightly across her chest. That must be what was going on—Cerin had clearly just gotten up and left, for whatever reason. She would never have allowed herself to get kidnapped or something, especially when she was the one supposed to be keeping watch. She was the most powerful Shadow Siren in existence, there was no way she could have fallen victim to…anything, especially out here in these remote woods, where things that even Lillian wasn’t familiar with might lurk in the shadows. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently, finding her rationality not as comforting as she’d hoped. She could tell herself that Cerin wasn’t in danger all she wanted, but what if she was? Standing here waiting on her was just wasting precious time…

_“GOTCHA!”_

Lillian screamed and threw herself forward several feet. She whirled around, already having summoned a thorny thicket where she had been standing, to find nothing there. Then something flickered into view, a small spherical creature floating several inches above her summoned brambles. It was white and semi-transparent, with long fangs and an even longer tongue that she was given ample time to examine as the thing howled with laughter.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” they gasped, tears of mirth rolling down their cheeks. Infuriated, she clenched her fists so hard it hurt, and the brambles beneath the creature shot skyward, jabbing them from underneath. They let out a yelp of pain, to which she blinked in confusion. This thing was so ghost-like, she’d assumed they were incorporeal.

“It was just a joke,” the creature complained, using one of their small, stubby limbs to attempt to rub where the brambles had stabbed them. “I wasn’t really looking for a bunch of thorns up the—“

“Where is Cerin?” she snarled, the brambles shuddering. The ghost eyed them warily, and floated up several more inches out of their reach before meeting her eyes with a smugness she detested.

“Got lost on the way to the bathroom, don’t you know,” they said, offering her a smile that was more fang than anything.

“You’re not funny!” she snapped, bringing her fists to her chest level with such force she punched the air. Again the tower of brambles burst upward, closing the distance the ghost had placed to the point the thorns enveloped them entirely. At the last second, the ghost had managed to turn themself intangible, though not entirely invisible—their beady little eyes poked out of the thicket.

“Tell me what you did with her,” she growled.

“Fine, I suppose I’m done toying with you,” the ghost grumbled, phasing out of the thicket and narrowing their eyes at her. “Your girlfriend’s an esteemed guest at the steeple tonight. You better hurry up and join her, or you’ll miss all the fun!”

With a high-pitched giggle and one final flash of their teeth, they vanished, simply melting away into the air. Lillian bristled, knowing the ghost had been taunting her but unable to understand what they meant. Cerin was both her friend (probably, she hoped) and a female, why did the ghost make such a point out of it? She hesitantly released the tension in her hands, causing her elongated thicket to crumble into dust from the bottom. This “steeple” had to be nearby.

It didn’t take long for her to find it—she first saw an enormous tower looming over the skeletal trees, a crooked spire of dark brick that seemed to tear at the indigo sky above. Merely the sight of it made an instinctive thrill of apprehension run through her, though at the same time she felt drawn. As she approached, the undergrowth abruptly thinned out, opening into a clearing containing a large building made of the same black stone. A teal stained-glass window with a loopy pattern she didn’t recognize was nestled above the doorway. Around the perimeter of the building ran a fence, its base of shabby brick with pointed iron poles embedded within, a clear message to any potential trespassers. A tall gate made of the same barbed poles appeared to be the only non-dangerous way to get in, though the shiny lock around the two middlemost poles made that difficult.

Not that Lillian cared one bit. She sank into the shadows beneath her and moments later reemerged unharmed on the other side of the fence, practically at the steeple’s front door. Stealth would be her ally, she felt, so she reached forward and gently swung the door open just enough for her to squeeze through.

The room she entered was much bigger than she’d expected, reminding her strikingly of the many rooms within the Palace of Shadow. More stained-glass windows lined the wall to her left, scattering the incoming moonlight across the stone floor. A relatively new-looking blue carpet ran from the doorway to what must have been the back of the room, lost in shadow. The moonlight pouring in from the windows provided just enough light to prevent her night vision from kicking in, so she couldn’t pierce the darkness. There were balconies high above her head, two of them running parallel to the north and south walls of the room, supported by curved purple pillars. She couldn’t see any stairs, or any other way to reach either balcony. She shivered involuntarily, unsure if it was the chill of the night or the aura of the building around her. She slinked into the darkened corner where the southern wall met the one containing the doorway, holding her breath.

“Someone else is here with us,” a voice hissed in a stage whisper—Lillian nearly jumped. It sounded like it was coming from the center of the room, far away from her. “Can you hear them creeping through our home like they own it?”

“They’re _alive,”_ replied another from above with obvious disdain. “Listen to the blood pulling through their veins—how disgusting!”

Lillian’s hands trembled of their own accord. They were talking about her, they must be—but just because they could hear her didn’t mean they had seen her yet. She stayed hidden.

“Who gives them the right to meddle in the affairs of the dead?” said a third, closer to her than the other two. “This is no place for the living.”

“You know, friends, there is a way to fix this,” said a fourth, only a few yards in front of her. It startled her enough that her instincts briefly took over and her hands pulsated with magic. But where there would normally have been a flow of power leaving her fingertips and entering the ground where she’d summon something, there was nothing, and the magic evaporated. The stone floors were too thick to force anything through—was it too late to veil herself in shadow?

Whispers so quiet they were nearly inaudible surrounded her as the same voice declared, “We’ll _make_ them belong here, with us, just like we did their friend from before!”

The entire room burst into hysterical giggles, a cacophony of screechy laughter, filling every available inch. Lillian had just enough time to recognize that she was hopelessly outnumbered before a pair of fangs lunged at her from the darkness.

She jerked backward. The back of her head hit the wall behind her and exploded with pain. In an instant, she was surrounded, swarmed by the white bodies of the cackling poltergeists. She swatted at them, but her hands phased through them as if she’d struck empty air. Amidst their giggling, they grabbed at her, yanked at her hair, one of them snatched her hat and disappeared with it. Then it was over—as if reacting to a silent command, the ghosts all floated away as one.

The splitting headache rendered her immobile, helplessly watching as they turned back toward her, all as one unit, except for one which met her eyes and gave her a sly wink. Behind them another row of ghosts suddenly became visible, as did another behind them, then another—there must have been at least a hundred. They condensed, forming what almost looked like a cloud in the center of the room. But any semblance to anything Lillian recognized fell away within moments, as with a puff of smoke, an enormous ghost, fifty times bigger than the others, floated in its place.

“Trespassers earn the wrath of Atomic Boo!” the giant ghost declared, the voice echoing despite the room not quite being that big. Something rumbled in the background, like distant thunder. “You and that other one, as ghostly as you appear, are not like us. How dare you try to trick us into thinking you're one of ours!”

Lillian managed to find her voice among the many that reverberated within the Boo’s. “We weren’t trying to trick you, we just—“

“No excuses!” the Atomic Boo bellowed. “Now you, too, will get a taste of death!”

No sooner had the final syllable left its fangs than a mass of writhing shadow hands emerged out of the floor beneath it. They reached up as one, their fingers finding purchase in the Boo’s semisolid body, and pulled in every direction. The Boo gave a yelp of surprise and exploded into a shower of smaller Boos. Most fled, squealing, either turning invisible or phasing through the walls and into adjacent rooms.

There was movement atop one of the balconies—the figure jumped down, their shadowy tail absorbing the shock of the fall like it was nothing. The relief Lillian felt was instant and indescribable. She left the safety of the corner to meet the other siren in the center of the room, where a few Boos remained, looking monumentally confused and shrinking away at the approach of both sirens.

“I have had _enough_ of your games,” Cerin snarled. She, too, was missing her hat. Her hair was messy, and without the shadow the brim of her hat drew across her face, her eyes were visible. Lillian had never seen them unobstructed before—a stunning, dark purple, darker still with her pupils blown from the dim light. They glittered in a way that reminded Lillian of the stars in the dusky sky outside. No wonder seeing the eyes of a Shadow Siren caused people to fall under a spell, she mused. Other Sirens were immune—as were, apparently, the undead, given the Boos were looking Cerin in the face and didn’t seem to be suffering any for it—but suddenly Lillian was questioning her own immunity to it. What else could be the reason she felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach?

“Give me what I came here for,” demanded Cerin. The hands she had summoned had long since melted away, but Lillian watched one of her fingers twitch, and another dark manifestation jerked to life, looming over the Boo she threatened. “It’s unforgivable enough that you lot accosted me when I wasn’t even _near_ this run-down hellhole you call home. But then you have the audacity to assault her when she didn’t do a damn thing to you?!” She pointed at Lillian, and the shadowy hand shuddered, as if it were barely able to restrain itself from crashing down on top of the Boo. “I ought to send you back to the afterlife, see if maybe this time it takes!”

“We didn’t mean anything by it, honest,” protested the Boo, waving their stubby arms as the shadow hand loomed ever closer. “We thought you were ghosts like us, is all, and when it turned out you weren't, we just wanted to scare you a little--we weren’t going to actually hurt—“

 _“Give me my hat!”_ The hand swiped downward, slamming into the ground below, vanishing as soon as it hit the floor. The Boo turned themself intangible at the moment of impact, and phased back to their semi-solid form with a look of terror on their face that Lillian relished.

“Hers too!” Cerin added, again pointing at Lillian and snapping her fingers with her other hand. “And anything else you rats stole from her while you were playing your little joke!”

The few Boos that remained whispered to each other urgently. One of them shot off as if fired from a cannon, vanishing into the wall to the left. “It’ll just be a moment,” another tried to placate Cerin. The siren crossed her arms and gave them a chilling scowl—Lillian was no stranger to that look, but with her eyes exposed it had much more of a punch. She was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

True to their word, a moment later a pair of Boos reentered carrying their hats, tossing the purple one to Cerin and the green to Lillian. She felt another rush of relief as soon as it touched her hands, and when she put it back on it was as if nothing ever happened, aside from the lump forming at the back of her head and the soreness of her scalp from when the Boos had pulled her hair.

“Perhaps you imbeciles have learned something,” Cerin growled, her eyes once again hidden. “If people are minding their own business, don’t go out of your way to antagonize them. There will be consequences.”

She glanced at Lillian and jerked her head. Lillian hardly needed to be told twice. She pivoted, feeling Cerin join her on her right. The two sirens exited the steeple without looking back, ignoring the burning gazes of the remaining Boos as they passed.

As soon as the gray doors of the steeple closed behind them, Cerin turned to Lillian with an uncharacteristic desperation. “I’m so sorry—they didn’t hurt you, did they? If they did I’ll go back and put every last one of them back in the ground—“

“I’m fine.” She’d had worse, really. “What happened that you got all mixed up with them?”

Cerin scoffed, vanishing into the shadows and reappearing on the other side of the fence. Lillian followed. “I was keeping watch, like usual, when a couple of them crept up on me and stole my hat. I gave chase. Figured I’d only be gone for a moment, I didn’t expect you to get all caught up in it too…”

“They sought me out,” Lillian explained, shaking her head. “One of them told me to come find you here…they made it seem like they were going to kill you…or already had…”

Cerin gave a rough bark of sarcastic laughter. “They _wish._ No, that whole thing was an act, and one that fell apart quickly once they tried that Atomic Boo trick on me. They all fled after I tore it to shreds, so I went exploring, trying to find my things. Came back just in time to see them trying to pull the same thing on you. They must have taken you for an easier target.”

“They were right,” muttered Lillian, a flare of shame at her helplessness making her gut twist.

“Not your fault,” Cerin said, as if reading her mind. “You were at a disadvantage, being indoors. Which is why it’s all the more _infuriating_ that they did that to you.” Her words dripped acid, and something in Lillian flipped over at the older siren being so angry on her behalf. “They could have hurt you and they wouldn’t have even cared! Perhaps I was too easy on them.”

“Cerin, let it go. Please.” She almost added “for me,” but chose against it, repulsed at the way her heart fluttered at the unspoken words. “I just want to get out of here,” she murmured instead, not really intending for Cerin to hear her.

But, naturally, she did. “Then let’s go,” said the older siren in a tone Lillian eventually decided was resigned, but not reluctant.

“But you love it here.”

“And you hate it.” Cerin met her evenly, turning back to her with her jaw set. Lillian suddenly wished more than ever that she could see her eyes again. “Besides, I’d rather get stabbed again than be neighbors with those Boos. We’re both much better off somewhere else.”

The unspoken question of where they _did_ belong hung in the tense silence between them as they got moving. The wind had returned. It blew through the dead branches of the surrounding trees, its quiet hissing reminding Lillian of a cornered animal, or the weak breathing of someone injured. The moon, which hadn’t moved in the sky at all since they’d arrived, lit the way, though Lillian regarded its stare as passive and uncaring more than comforting.

“We might not find anyplace we’re better off,” she said at last. “I mean…you’re right, this place is perfect for Shadow Sirens, and—“

“I won’t hear it,” Cerin interrupted, not even giving her a look over her shoulder as she spoke. “You need someplace that better suits your needs.”

“What about you?”

Cerin stopped. When she turned to look at Lillian her regard was so vicious that the plant siren almost shrank away.

“What about me?” she repeated icily.

“Don’t you need to find a niche like that too?” Lillian pressed, despite her own misgivings and Cerin’s increasingly sour expression.

The older siren forced a humorless smile. “There is no niche for me, Lillian. There never will be.”

“What are you talking about?” Lillian demanded. She had an idea of where this was going and prayed she was wrong. “If there’s a place for me out there somewhere, then there must be one for you, too.”

“I’m not like you,” Cerin said. The artificial smile vanished, but the absence of emotion in her face was worse. “Your powers allow you to create life in so many forms…it’s breathtaking. Imagine what good you can do, just by being you. The world’s better with you in it.” A low, quiet growl formed in her throat. “But me? I’m more like the Queen than anyone else. I can never separate myself from her influence. What use am I to anyone when my powers are all just like hers? Darkness, and manipulation, and soul-sucking black magic—no wonder the surface-dwellers despise us!" At her own words and increase in volume she hung back, taking a steady, deep breath. “My point being, you have a future in this world. I have nothing. I’m just…here. Existing.” 

Lillian was too stunned to speak for several moments, equal parts floored by this openness and chilled by the admission in a deep, intrinsic way. The Boos couldn’t have dreamed of instilling such fear in her. Cerin had glanced away, maybe out of shame, and didn’t turn to face Lillian even when she finally regained her words.

“That’s all anyone can ask of you, Cerin.” Her voice was _this_ close to trembling and she loathed it with every fiber of her being. “I don’t know why you insist we’re so different when we’re not. If I can fit into this world like you say, so can you.”

“My only purpose was to serve the Queen!” Cerin snapped. “Without her, I am nothing! Why don’t you understand that?”

“You’re more than what she wanted of you!” Lillian shot back. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes—she didn’t know why. “You keep clinging to everything she created even as it falls apart—“

“Because it’s all I know!” Cerin advanced on her, her face contorted in pain. “It’s all that I _am,_ Lillian! She _made_ me this way!” Her voice broke. She swiped the back of her hand across her face, not quickly enough for it to escape Lillian’s notice.

“She’s dead, Cerin.” The words broke the silence like rocks dropped in a still pool of water. “We don’t belong to her anymore— _you_ don’t belong to her.” She felt…serene, despite the wet trailing of tears down her cheeks that she furtively scrubbed away. Cerin had grown mostly still except for the shaking of her shoulders. Her head was bowed and her fists clenched.

“So there’s no place here for us,” Lillian continued, knowing that the other siren was hanging on her every word. “We’ll make one. The rest of the world will adjust.” A wilting bush near Cerin caught her attention, its leaves dry and browning at the edges. She focused on it, running her fingers across her thumb, and slowly the plant recuperated, sagging less as the color returned to its leaves. Most of Lillian’s magic was temporary, and would dissolve in a matter of minutes or if she moved far enough away, but she’d found that she could strengthen already existing plants. When used in this way, her magic would hold for much longer.

“You’d be surprised how quick nature can adapt,” she said, allowing a small smile despite herself. She felt Cerin’s eyes on her; the older siren had picked up her head and now gazed at her, mouth slightly agape. Again a burning desire to see her eyes coursed through Lillian like a surge of adrenaline, and self-consciously she brought her hands to her chest.

Cerin seemed to want to say something, but no words left her lips. Lillian rescued her, approaching slowly and laying a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m staying with you,” she said, her volume low but her resolve unwavering. “I…I _want_ to stay with you.”

Cerin glanced up, and through the strands of her hair Lillian caught the briefest glimpse of her eyes—just as dark as before, but shinier, reflecting the moonlight. “Why are you wasting your time on me?” she said, the muscles in her shoulders tensing under Lillian’s fingers.

“Because I want to, Cerin.” Lillian shook her head. “I’m not wasting anything. You’re worth it to me. You just…you have to be willing to take the steps to heal.”

Cerin cracked a tiny, bittersweet smile, and Lillian’s stomach did a somersault. “That didn’t answer my question. But…I suppose you have a point. I’ll try.”

Part of Lillian wanted to pull the smaller siren into an embrace, but her common sense rejected the notion as soon as it took form in her mind. Cerin would disembowel her if she touched her more than she already was. She settled instead for removing her hand from her shoulder but offering Cerin a smile of her own. The two stared at each other awkwardly. Something in Lillian was fighting against her silence, insisting she needed to say something, do something—

“Let’s go, then,” said Cerin again, turning her back on Lillian and indicating the dark woods before her. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

When they stopped to sleep again, the sky had gradually changed from a dark blue-purple to a gradient of orange and pink. Cerin pretended she wasn’t exhausted until she hit the ground, solidly asleep. Lillian watched over her carefully, barely an arm’s length away, silently challenging another denizen of the woods to show themselves, try to mess with them again. Cerin only dozed for a few hours before waking up with a startled cry. Whatever caused it, she refused to talk about it and instead insisted Lillian rest too, before they went on their way again.

For the first time, Lillian dreamed of her squad alive. Maria was jumpier than normal, and every time Lillian looked at her it appeared her hair had gone from long to short to long again. Cerulean, meanwhile, seemed to be in on a joke her squadmates weren’t; she kept giggling to herself and giving Lillian playful, knowing smiles. The way she spoke made everything sound like it had a double meaning that flew far over Lillian’s head.

Maria vanished halfway through their patrol—Cerulean didn’t seem very concerned, so Lillian accepted it as well. They traveled quickly and relatively quietly through an area full of rolling green hills and plants whose vibrant flowers bore sharp, savage teeth.

“Lillian,” said Cerulean abruptly, the sly grin finally falling from her lips. “You have to wake up. You know what’s happening.”

Before Lillian could reply, the sky darkened around them, like a cloud had passed over the sun. Cerulean’s ocean blue eyes flashed at her through the shadows as her body disintegrated, one limb at a time. Lillian awoke in a cold sweat, the dream melting away but leaving her head swimming.

She rolled over and saw Cerin, the smaller siren curled up on herself a few feet away. She was still, yet fidgeted occasionally, proving she was awake. Lillian didn’t move, pretending to still be asleep, but watched Cerin for a moment or two longer. Part of her longed to be closer, wished she could approach her, feel her warmth, see her eyes again…

Cold realization crept through her veins as the figment Cerulean’s words echoed through her head: _You know what’s happening._

It was so obvious. She was so _stupid._

Cerin could never know. Lillian repeated this to herself firmly even as her gaze drifted back to the older siren, who was so blissfully unaware of the moral dilemma happening inches from her. It didn’t matter what Lillian felt for her. Cerin had made clear her opinions about…about things like this. Shadow Sirens know nothing of love, Lillian reminded herself. All she had to do was pretend to believe it.

Cerin smiled to herself through the gloom of twilight and Lillian’s heart did a backflip into her throat. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.


	7. Con moto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys. sorry this is so late, progress has been slow and school's been kicking my ass, but i'm on spring break now so hopefully i can get a good part of the final chapter done before i go back.   
> also happy mar10 day

The piles of fallen white leaves shifted and crunched as the two sirens moved through them, eyes locked on the path ahead. The surrounding trees had black trunks topped with white canopies, and the ground beneath was mostly black except for the swirls of oscillating green, blue, and purple. Evening was settling over the area, mostly silent except for a light breeze rustling the leaves. Lillian’s skin prickled. While at first she’d been enthralled with the colors, the fascinating flora, the serenity of this place, now that she’d spent some time within it she couldn’t help but feel quietly unsettled. It had a dissociative aura about it that made her viscerally uncomfortable, as if her mind and body were almost completely detached from each other, hanging by a thread. She tried to ground herself, wrapping her arms around her midsection and looking for the billionth time at the back of Cerin’s head.

“What do you think?” asked the older siren in front of her, spreading her arms as if showing off something she’d made herself. “Be honest.”

“It’s creepy,” said Lillian. “But so are we, so…”

“No, you’re right. This place is awful.” Cerin shook her head. “We’ll just be passing through. I can’t imagine living here, I’d go insane within a week.”

“Maybe that’s why there’s no one else here,” Lillian thought out loud, lifting her gaze again to the horizon and the setting sun. There didn’t seem to be any surface-dweller villages at all in this place, which she found just as unnerving as the disorienting tranquility. Even the forest that saw no sunlight the surface-dwellers found more habitable than here…was that just because of this penetrating feeling? Or did they know something the pair of sirens didn’t?

Deciding now was not the time to succumb to misplaced anxiety, she let the thoughts go. And as it always did, her mind defaulted to thinking about Cerin. Their misadventure in the dark forest had led to some small, subtle changes; the older siren still didn’t emote very much, that probably would never change, but Lillian thought she felt more comfortable just talking. Now, when it was safe to do so, their moonlight travel was filled with casual conversation instead of dead silence. Lillian could even say something teasing once in a while—months ago Cerin would have threatened her with bodily harm, if not acted on it, at any perceived slight to her ego. But now she took the jabs in stride, even if this acceptance was accompanied by her own cutting remarks. To Lillian, it was like she had a squad again. Their partnership was less of a survival tactic and more like a true friendship, so she dearly hoped. Friendship was the most she could hope for out of Cerin…but as long as she remained this close, Lillian wouldn’t dare complain.

Cerin came to a slow stop in front of her, looking up above the treetops. Lilian followed her gaze and gasped out loud at the enormous tree in the distance, dwarfing all the others by several hundred feet. Its black bark and white leaves imitated every other tree in the area, but it was gargantuan, and even from here Lillian could sense its venerability. She _knew_ plants, understood them inside and out. An organism like this was either thousands of years old or magically altered.

“Can we go closer?” she asked with all the enthusiasm of a child.

“I don’t think we have much choice,” said Cerin. “A thing like that is probably miles across.”

“You’re exaggerating,” said Lillian over her shoulder, already having brushed past. It didn’t matter to her if Cerin had said yes or no, there was nothing that could keep her from investigating this beauty.

It took some time for them to approach the base of the tree (and yes, Cerin had been hyperbolic in estimating its width), but up close Lillian was even more amazed with it. It was so tall she could barely see the canopy from the ground, even if she craned her neck all the way. The bark was slick, so shiny it reflected the last of the sunlight as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Its roots sprawled outward from the base, breaching the surface enough that she could have walked on them if she wanted. The quiet splashing of water was the only noise besides the breeze rustling the leaves above.

“Lillian?” Cerin called from a few steps behind her. “I’m no botanist, but…water is supposed to stay inside the tree, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes.” Lillian gave her a perplexed look and followed her pointing finger to a tiny waterfall pouring out of the trunk on the east side. Monumentally confused, she approached, finding exactly what the sound had indicated: surprisingly clear water trickling down the bark and forming a small pool on the ground below, flowing outward from the trunk like it were another of the tree’s lengthy roots. Lillian watched the stream for a few minutes, waiting for it to slow or perhaps become cloudy, but nothing happened. She heard Cerin approach her from behind.

“There’s another hole on the other side also spilling water,” the older siren reported.

“Interesting.” Lillian glanced further up the trunk, as if it would offer her an explanation. “It must be magically altered, then. A normal tree would desiccate with water gushing out of its sapwood like this. It indicates that the xylem is broken somewhere, so no capillary action occurs, and the whole tree’s at risk of infection if it doesn’t dehydrate first…” She trailed off, not meaning to have continued out loud. “Yeah, it must be magic,” she concluded awkwardly.

“I’m afraid you lost me,” said Cerin. Lillian turned just in time to see her smile. “But I trust you know what you’re talking about. Explain it to me another time, maybe.”  

Lillian nodded, heat rising to her face for some reason. She averted her eyes, pretending it wasn’t happening, and groped for a change of subject. “Whoever did this, it must have been recent,” she said. “I never went here on patrol, but others did. Other plant sirens definitely would have talked about it if it had been around when the Queen was.”

Cerin gave a grunt of acknowledgement. “That doesn’t explain why or how this happened.”

“You tell me.” Lillian shrugged and traced a finger along the tree’s bark. Size and mysterious water loss aside, it didn’t appear to be much more than just a tree. But someone had gone out of their way to magically enhance it, in the middle of the most dissonant woods in existence. And whoever had done it must have been powerful beyond imagination—Lillian’s own magic could never have done anything like this, not even close, and she considered herself one of the stronger plant sirens out there.

“Perhaps it’s protecting something,” Cerin suggested. “It’s certainly big enough to house something important.”

Lillian blinked, considering the hypothesis. “I was going to say that’s ridiculous, but now that I think about it…”

“Exactly,” said Cerin. “Who would hide something in a tree? Thus, who would look for something in a tree? It’s stupid enough to work.”

Lillian nodded absently, scrutinizing the bark yet again. Now that Cerin mentioned the possibility of something significant being near, she did feel like some part of her was drawn to this place, and not just her interest in all things botanical. She could have ignored this subtle pull if she wanted to, but now that she was so aware of it, it was beginning to really nag at her.

“Do you think it’s inside?” asked Cerin, breaking Lillian out of her thoughts. The smaller siren was starting to circle the base, examining every square inch of the trunk.

“Does it matter?” Lillian replied, her brow furrowing. “We’re not cutting this tree open to get at what might potentially be there. I don’t even think we could.”

“And miss out on whatever it’s hiding from us?” Cerin said, her arms crossed and head tilted as if in genuine confusion. “I think it would be a shame to let this go uninvesti--” She cut herself off, tossing a wary glance over her shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

“No?” Lillian inched closer, tense and alert. Her magic tugged at her fingertips.

 “It was…skittering,” said Cerin with a grimace. “Big enough that I could hear its footsteps—vile!”

“Cerin, really?” Now Lillian crossed her arms, fixing the older siren with a glare that didn’t have much force behind it. “You’re this worked up over a bug? I didn’t take you for an insectophobe.”

“I am not!” Cerin said, a touch too defensively. “You can’t fault me for being… _cautious_ about potential enemies. And I think it’s rational to be unnerved by an insect so large I can hear it move!”

“We’re in their territory. I don’t know what you’re expecting.” Lillian squinted at the roots around Cerin anyway, hoping that the effort would reassure the older siren.

“I don’t care where we are, if one gets too close to me I’ll— _behind you!”_

Lillian whipped around, ears ringing from Cerin’s uncharacteristic shriek, and came within inches of the open mandibles of the largest spider she’d ever seen in her life. It was crouched on the trunk of the tree right behind her, nearly half her size. Its round body was striped black and white, its legs tense beneath it as if it were about to pounce, and its gigantic, bulging eyes locked with hers for one agonizing moment.

Its head twitched twice, and out of its mandibles fired a wad of webbing that curved in a fluid arc and popped Cerin in the face. Another shot at Lillian, but she slapped it out of the air, sending it bouncing across the ground like a tumbleweed. Before she could summon anything to counterattack, the spider scurried away, around the trunk, vanishing behind one of the larger roots.

“Are you okay?” Lillian turned back to Cerin, hoping the web was as harmless as it looked.

“Fine,” Cerin squeaked, her voice still an octave higher than normal. She cleared her throat, rubbed at her right eye, and repeated in her normal, brusque tone, “I’m fine. Hit my eye, but I’ll live.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Cerin scowled. That meant she really was back to normal.

“Good.” Lillian fought hard to keep the smile off her face and lost. “If you were actually hurt, I’d feel bad for laughing--!” The image of the ball of web soaring gracefully through the air and smacking Cerin in the face replayed in her mind’s eye, and she broke down.

Cerin watched her devolve into helpless snickering with an expression like she’d taken a bite out of a lemon. “If you were anyone else, I’d tear you in half,” she informed Lillian as her laughter subsided.

“Oh, come on, even you have to admit that was hysterical,” Lillian prodded. Either she’d make Cerin smile or incite the older siren to kill her trying.

Cerin’s glower didn’t change at first, but Lillian held her gaze, beaming earnestly, and the corners of Cerin’s mouth twitched. She turned her back, hiding her face from view. “There--there must be more of those ghastly things nearby,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. Lillian grinned to herself—success.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she said with an air of bravado, approaching Cerin from behind and nudging her with her elbow.

“My hero,” Cerin said dryly. Lillian’s brain understood the sarcasm, but her heart did not, somersaulting in her chest. “Really, we should get out of here.”

“I suppose,” Lillian said with a trace of reluctance, turning back to get one last look at the massive tree that had so captivated her. Her heart skipped a beat.

Creeping up the trunk, their striped coloration making the tree’s bark appear to be rippling in the dying light of day, was an ocean of the spider creatures. All their eyes were trained on the two sirens; Lillian’s skin crawled under their gaze. She estimated they had about two seconds.

She jerked her hands upward and three Piranhas burst out of the colorful ground, their own pattern anything but; their black heads and white spots looked right at home among the similarly monochrome vegetation. Lillian had just enough time to bark out, “Cerin, _run!”_ before the army of spiders opened fire. She slipped into the shadows to avoid the volley of webs but emerged from the void immediately, needing to see to control her Piranhas.

The spiders approached, the scuttling of their many legs as they came eliciting a strangled shriek from Cerin somewhere behind Lillian—she paid it little attention, focusing instead on commanding the Piranhas. But something was amiss. She felt the magic leave her as it always did, but while she normally felt a mental _click_ of sorts when she took hold of the plants, there was nothing. And then one of them turned around and lunged for her. She jumped out of its range with a yelp. Just as the pieces began to fall together, the spiders hit.

She thought she heard Cerin yell her name, but she couldn’t have been sure because one of the damned arachnids jumped on her and dug its mandibles into her shoulder. She smacked it away, but two more took its place, and then she had to dodge the snapping teeth of the Piranhas, and three more spiders pounced on her while she left herself open. She hit the ground with enough force to make her teeth rattle, and the spiders raced over her. They no longer seemed interested in biting her, but the same could not be said for the Piranhas, the carnivorous plants circling her, rearing back to strike.

She scrambled upright, and in the process gave one of them a solid uppercut to the jaw, but armed with only her fists, she could only do so much damage. Vines erupted out of the ground before her, a consequence of her rising panic and slipping control, but they did nothing against the Piranha onslaught. The plants advanced. A scream of pain ripped out of her as one snatched her left arm, its jagged teeth slicing deep into her skin. She couldn’t move—from prior experience, she knew that if she tried to tug her arm away, the plant would just hold tighter. Agonized tears burned at the corners of her eyes as the other plants loomed closer, salivating.

She’d never thought her death would be this ironic.

A chill settled over her that she at first attributed to adrenaline, or blood loss, but then she noticed the shadow hands snaking up the stems of all three Piranha Plants. The next instant, the plants’ heads rolled across the ground, their tongues lolling and their stems flailing until they all disintegrated a moment later. Lillian gasped in pain as the teeth slid out of her arm. The plant’s head fell to the ground with a lifeless thump and exploded into dust at the impact.

A cacophony of hissing creatures and Cerin’s own shouts behind her made her turn around. The older siren stood alone in the ocean of snarling arachnids, but the pair of shadow hands that flanked her were twenty feet tall, each sending dozens of them flying with a single swipe. Her efforts coupled with the surviving spiders fleeing made the crowd thin out substantially in just a few moments, which Lillian discovered was more than enough time for the shock to set in. She sank to the ground, lightheaded, her right hand clamped like a tourniquet around her left bicep. Blood from the puncture wounds streamed down her wrist, but given that she could move her elbow, nothing was broken. Her muscles screamed in protest, though, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The spiders stampeded around her, ignoring her just as much as she ignored them.

Cerin called her name again, panicked, desperate. Lillian clung to her voice with every ounce of her remaining strength. The older siren approached and dropped to the ground beside her, swearing under her breath as she saw the damage.

“Stay with me,” she muttered, tensing somewhat. Lillian opened her eyes and watched as a shadow hand, a fraction of the size of the ones before, slithered out of the shadow Cerin cast and flew across the ground, toward the tree behind them.

“Not going anywhere,” Lillian slurred, her own voice fainter than she would have liked. She turned to face Cerin, wondering if she’d sustained any injuries, and found her without a scratch. The older siren stared at her in return, her mouth slightly open, for such a long time that Lillian found herself uncomfortable. Fortunately Cerin broke eye contact as the shadow hand doubled back to her, clutching a ball of webbing. It raced away again as Cerin took the discarded web from it.

“Good thinking,” Lillian mumbled, holding her arm out as Cerin pulled the ball apart.

“Your eyes,” Cerin replied, wrapping what she could of the web tightly around the injury.

“What?”

Cerin fumbled, nearly dropping the web. “I mean—I—they’re showing, your hat got knocked off, here it is—“ The shadow hand returned, Lillian’s hat in tow. She reached out to take it; relieved of its burden, the hand melted away, into the growing shadows of the approaching night.

So that was what Cerin had been staring at, she thought with a rush of self-conscious heat. She fingered the brim of the hat in her hand, something preventing her from putting it back on just yet. She allowed herself the tiniest of glances at the siren next to her and saw the damning pink in her face—she turned away just as quickly, focusing on the ground instead.

Cerin’s work was every bit as swift and concise as her words. She inched back a little, giving Lillian some space so she could turn her arm over and examine the attempted patching-up. “It’s not pretty,” the older siren said with a hint of apology as she stood up.

Lillian shrugged. The web was stretched thin across the rows of puncture wounds, destined not to hold for long, but for the moment it was keeping her from bleeding everywhere. “It’s good enough.” She lifted her eyes to Cerin’s face, the older siren now taller than her by a few inches. “You saved me.”

“I did what I had to,” Cerin said, averting her gaze. There was still some lingering pink in her cheeks. Lillian swore it went a shade or two darker as she watched, and she didn’t know if it was because of her words or the fact that her eyes were still exposed—which wasn’t an accident this time, if she was being honest with herself.

She smiled, despite the pain steadily pulsating through her arm. “My hero.”

Cerin flushed yet more, and Lillian felt a flare of devious pride.

“If you’re done being facetious, I highly suggest we get moving,” the older siren said in her usual clipped manner, looking over her shoulder toward the tree—pointedly not at Lillian.

The plant siren raised her eyebrows at this. “What if I’m not being facetious?”

“You are. Let’s go, before they try for a second round.” No, something about Cerin’s tone now was even more brusque than normal. She couldn’t have been _that_ concerned about the stupid spiders…? Lillian winced as she got up, and not just because of the ache in her arm. Her teasing must have gone too far…even if now she wasn’t even sure if she was teasing anymore. She put her hat on, lowering the brim over her eyes. Cerin looked her over as she rose, a deeply pained expression darkening her face when she thought Lillian wasn’t looking.

The two sirens fled the tree, only slowing their pace when its impossibly tall branches were dark shapes in the distant sky. Night falling around them didn’t make the dissonant woods any friendlier. The white leaves gained an ethereal glow while the black wood blended in perfectly with the surrounding darkness. The colorful swirls in the ground were even more striking than they had been in the sunlight, a labyrinth of changing blues and greens and purples that wound in loops through the infinite black. Lillian briefly wondered what kind of magic was responsible before deciding she didn’t want to think about it.

The silence that sat like a wall between her and Cerin, however, wasn’t at all conducive to her drowning out her unwanted thoughts. Much like the atmosphere of the forest around them, it made her uneasy; the combination of the two made her feel like she was going to snap in half. The stabbing pain that shot up her arm every time she moved it was both an annoyance and a constant reminder of how lucky she was—she so easily could have been torn to shreds instead.

At last, Cerin broke the strangling quiet. “Why did your plants turn on you?”

“I’m not sure,” Lillian admitted, glad to have something to think about. “It felt like there was some interference between me and them…something blocking my control. I’ve never been attacked by one I’ve summoned before, usually they ignore me if I’m not commanding them to do something…”

“Of course!” Cerin said, snapping her fingers. “This interference you speak of is messing with us all. It’s why no one lives here, and why the wildlife are attacking us, and why I can’t think clearly.”

“You can’t?” Lillian hadn’t noticed any major changes in Cerin’s cognitive functions. She was every bit the sharp-tongued commander Lillian had known from before, just…friendlier. Easier to get along with. _More prone to blushing,_ whispered an uninvited voice in the very back of her mind. She crushed it, cursing herself.

“It feels as if my head is stuffed with cotton,” Cerin confessed, pulling at her gloves. “And this odd, warm haze…the only time it cleared was when those disgusting vermin showed up. Watching you go down beneath them was like a scene from my nightmares.” She shuddered. “I know I must have sent my powers after the Piranhas when they turned on you, but I don’t remember doing so, it all happened so fast—and you were hurt, and I was _furious,_ and…”

She cleared her throat and glanced away, her fingers still working at her gloves. Lillian processed her words with care, not trusting herself to speak. Cerin’s “symptoms” were achingly familiar…

“I told you this place would make me go insane,” Cerin muttered. “Stars alive, listen to me rambling. We need to get out of here.”

Lillian agreed emphatically, though out loud she hummed a quiet affirmative and said nothing more. They continued their travel slower than usual, Cerin periodically fretting over Lillian’s injury despite her insistence that she was fine. She wanted to be bothered by the overzealous concern, but just couldn’t bring herself to find it anything short of…touching. And no matter how viciously she beat these thoughts back, they just wouldn’t leave her alone.

When they finally stopped to rest at daybreak, hidden away among the trees and grasses that were gradually beginning to regain their natural colors, Cerin left her side only to scavenge for something edible. At all other times she was barely inches away, close enough that Lillian could accidentally brush against her just by moving…it couldn’t have been unintentional. But before she could analyze this, the fatigue struck her with all the force and spontaneity of a bolt of lightning, and she soon gave herself up to sleep.

 She dozed on and off, the sleeping and waking worlds bleeding into each other. Sometimes she thought she felt Cerin’s fingers interlaced with hers, but wasn’t sure—she could have been dreaming.

She must have been dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the brief plant biology lesson but i didn't suffer through plant anatomy units in introductory biology courses for nothing dammit. let's pretend that the word "xylem" was totally in use a thousand years ago


	8. Con amore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i'm alive. sorry for the unintentional hiatus, life steamrolled me all throughout march and april and i had surgery in may so i wasn't really in any state to work on writing. also i redid this chapter from scratch twice. it's been an uphill battle for sure but it's done. i have a really short epilogue ready, i'm going to wait and see if i want to add anything to it but that should be posted soon and then it's really finished.
> 
> i'm an idiot so i've been working on yet another installment for this series but it's too early to tell if i'll follow through with it, even though i really want to. more details on that later probably
> 
> if you're ever worried about progress on my fics in case something like this happens again (and ngl it most likely will) you can check out my tumblr which i have listed on my profile, it's very personal and thus very disorganized but i complain about my writing and my lack of motivation like every other day so you at least will know i'm alive and trying. also it now has pre-998 bonus content if you know where to look, it was something i threw on paper that i didn't think was worth posting here as an official thing. anyway i hope this chapter was worth the wait

“What next?” had been the question that hung over the sirens’ heads like a storm cloud as they traveled.

Their options were limited. To the northeast was a welcoming expanse of grassy rolling hills, but both sirens were well acquainted with the settlement of Koopas that lived there. The villagers had been a prime target for the Queen’s forces, not just for the Shadow Sirens but also for the Queen’s pet dragons. The local Koopas were sure to be militant and unforgiving; Cerin had said in no uncertain terms that if they were seen there, they’d both be killed. South of that was a desert, an endless flat plain of dry sand and cacti. Going there was out of the question for obvious reasons. For now they stayed in a small sliver of thin woodland, not too far away from the remains of the city the Queen had ravaged. It may have been close enough to the former Palace of Shadow that the surface-dwellers kept their distance, but it was still too open for either siren’s liking. A temporary refuge, but unsustainable.

Lillian had suggested traveling as far south as possible, toward the ocean, in the hopes that they stumble across a harbor and catch a ship going to some other part of the world. Everywhere the Shadow Queen’s empire had touched was poisoned for her few surviving servants; maybe even the entire continent harbored animosity toward anything that reminded them of the so-called demon. There was no place for a pair of fugitives here or anywhere nearby, but across the ocean there was a glimmer of a chance. Cerin, however reluctantly, had agreed. They’d be setting off for the shore that night.

Lillian was on watch, concealed in the shade of a thin and twisted tree, Cerin curled up inches away, fast asleep. The sun was beginning its descent from its highest point, the air warm and inviting. The seasons were changing, though, the threat of cooler weather hanging in the breeze that rolled over the fields. Lillian may have never experienced a winter with the sun present, but she had a feeling that even the sunlight wouldn’t be enough to ward off the inevitable chill. Maybe by that time she and Cerin would have found someplace safe and stable…she needed to hope for it, plant sirens like herself got cold easily and the sunless winters she remembered were frigid and seemed to last forever. Lucky the Queen fell when she did, she thought. If all the sirens had been turned loose in the dead of winter…even fewer would have survived, and she doubted she would have been one of them.

Cerin twitched and make a stifled muttering noise beside her—Lillian nearly jumped, having forgotten she was there. She relaxed as Cerin settled again, feeling relieved that she was getting at least a little rest. She absently ran her fingers over the scabs on her left arm. The wounds were healing nicely, even if her arm still hurt to move. And Cerin still looked at the injuries as if they were the most painful thing she’d ever laid eyes on. She was loath to leave Lillian alone, even for a moment. Lillian couldn’t even remember the last time Cerin had slept this deeply or for this long.

She turned her gaze back over the horizon, watching thin and wispy clouds chase each other across the sky. Her mind was desperate to wander, but she’d tethered it to one metaphorical spot, fearing where it would lead her if she allowed it any flights of fancy. She was determined to focus on the here and now. This would have been easy if anything had been happening here and now, but nothing changed except the direction of the breeze. And thus her mind slipped its chains, drifting to where Cerin lay, and whispered things that nearly made her choke on air.

Cerin, oblivious to Lillian’s self-inflicted suffering, spasmed again. Lillian watched her, blithe amusement slowly giving way to concern. Was she having a nightmare? If she was, Lillian ought to wake her—and if she wasn’t, she’d take Lillian’s hand off, and Lillian would deserve it.

Fortunately, Cerin solved the problem herself by sitting up with a grunt. Lillian quickly averted her eyes, pretending like she hadn’t been staring, and turned to the other siren as if she’d just noticed she’d awakened.

“Are you alright?” Lillian asked, glancing her up and down. Cerin’s hair was doing a miserable job of hiding her eyes, which seemed unfocused and glazed over. Then she squeezed them shut, bringing a hand up to rub at her face. When it came away, her eyes were as clear as ever.

“Fine,” she said, her tone neutral but her eyes narrowing a little. She shook her hair back in her face, ridding Lillian of the easiest way to read her. “I’ll take next watch.”

“No need,” Lillian said, anticipating the deflection. “You need the rest more than I do.”

“I’m certainly not going to be getting any more sleep,” Cerin replied. “We have a long night ahead of us, you know.”

“I’m not tired either,” Lillian said. She was just as capable of being stubborn. “We can just wait it out.”

Cerin looked for a moment like she was about to argue, but evidently thought better of it. She leaned against the tree, not quite next to Lillian but close enough to make her heart give her ribs a pointed thump. She inhaled quietly, hoping the cool air would wash away her anxiousness.

“What do you dream about?” Cerin asked.

Lillian paused, running her tongue over her lips. “That’s a loaded question,” she said carefully. “Lots of things.”

Cerin was silent. Lillian didn’t need to see her face to know her displeasure. “I more meant, do you believe it means anything?”

“That’s also a loaded question,” Lillian said, trying to sound amused in the hopes that Cerin would lighten up. “I don’t think they always have to have meaning, but…sometimes there is something significant hidden there.”

Cerin made a noncommittal murmuring noise in her throat, staring directly out across the plains, unmoving even when Lillian shifted to face her. “It would be easier if they were meaningless,” she said at length, her tone neutral.

Lillian, torn between agreeing and asking for clarification, chose to say nothing. Cerin had brought this up for a reason, and she’d talk about it on her own terms.

“I used to only dream of the Queen,” she said. Her manner and expression betrayed nothing, but by now Lillian knew her tells. Just as she expected, Cerin’s fingers found the wrist of her glove and gave it a gentle tug. “More specifically, her demise. I didn’t think much of it. I still don’t, actually, but now…the subject has changed, and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“They often don’t make sense,” Lillian said. She’d be lying if she said her most recent dream, _that_ one, hadn’t been at the front of her mind as she spoke. The disjointed events preceding what she’d assumed was the important part of it were just as confusing as they had been, no matter how much time she wasted mulling it over.

“That’s not what I mean,” Cerin replied, her tone now leaking a barely noticeable, and probably accidental, sharpness. “I mean, I don’t understand why I don’t relive it anymore. I don’t understand why…why it changed to…other things.”

“It’s been months,” said Lillian. “Maybe you’re moving on.”

“Hardly,” Cerin said with a sniff. “It still tears me up inside to think about it. Knowing her killers walk free…but it doesn’t affect me the way it did. I don’t crave revenge anymore. My biggest, most overarching concern is that it’ll affect us. That someone will find us out and finish the job.”

 _Us._ Lillian mentally smacked the teasing thought away and grounded herself.

“Not to say that it wasn’t a concern before,” Cerin backtracked, pulling at her other glove now. “I mean, it always was, the goal we agreed on so long ago was survival only…but to me, mere survival was a means to an end, and that end was reviving her. And now I can’t bring myself to care about that. Why?”

Lillian assumed it was a rhetorical question and kept quiet. Letting Cerin rant, speak her thoughts out loud, would probably do them both good.

Cerin continued, “If the Queen knew I was ignoring my purpose like I am, she’d tear my magic from my body. And she’d have every right to do so—she designed me to be unerringly loyal, and powerful enough that nothing could prevent me from protecting her. I’m a failsafe, and…I’m choosing to fail. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“Cerin,” Lillian said, but the other siren swept on, “There is clearly some flaw in me that’s allowed me to so deviate from my original purpose. I’m making the conscious choice to betray my creator, and why? Because I’d rather be—“

She froze, her fists clenching as if tightening around the words she’d left unspoken. Lillian recognized this subject, vivid memories of the awkward yet necessary conversation they’d had in the dark forest unfolding in her mind’s eye.

“You’d rather be what?” she prodded, turning to better face her. She couldn’t _not_ pounce on this enticing thread.

Cerin made a noise that sounded like it was a fraction of a syllable. Lillian watched her knot her fingers; the motion had some kind of twitchiness to it.

“We’ve been over this before,” Lillian said, trying to keep her tone soft. The last thing she wanted was for Cerin to read her as exasperated. “The Queen can’t control us anymore. We— _you_ —should focus on what you want, not what she intended for you.”

“What I want is shameful,” Cerin murmured, not only refusing to look toward Lillian but turning her face away.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” said Lillian. “It’s not like there’s anyone around to make fun of you…besides me, but you know I’d do it to your face.”

Cerin tried to look stern, but a ghost of a smile pulled at her lips and ruined the effect. “I am all too aware. You’re uniquely privileged with the ability to mock me. Don’t abuse it.”

“I’d never,” Lillian replied with an impish grin of her own. Then, reigning herself in, she said, “I wouldn’t tease you about something like this, anyway. I can tell it’s bothering you.”

Cerin had been pulling at her gloves again and froze, almost guiltily.

“You won’t tell me?” Lillian pushed, telling herself this was the last time she’d pester Cerin like this.

“Stars, no,” Cerin said with an insincere laugh. “You’re part of the problem.”

Lillian blinked. Four different retorts formed in her mind, but they all dissolved before they could reach her tongue. Meanwhile, Cerin looked like she was considering banging her head against the tree behind her but settled instead for burying it in her hands.

“I am a thrice-damned idiot,” she mumbled through her fingers. “The Queen is rolling in her grave at having made me.”

“So that probably wasn’t what you meant to say,” Lillian said, her indignation dissolving into amusement. “I’ll be so kind as to give you a second chance.”

Cerin groaned into her hands. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I _always_ think about my words before I speak them—until you’re involved. Then every half-formed thought finds its way out of my mouth, no matter how imbecilic.”

“That just sounds like you’re flustered, Cerin.” Lillian tried in vain to shut her mind down before it took the implications and ran with them, but she was far too late. Instantly a hundred questions flooded her, all centering around something she didn’t dare imagine.

“Flustered?” repeated Cerin, dropping her hands from her face to reveal a sneer. “I’m no juvenile. I don’t get _flustered.”_

“Then what would you call what just happened?” Lillian asked, narrowing her eyes.

Cerin struggled for a moment, finding no accurate words and instead turning to Lillian with her lips pursed. Lillian was proud of herself for keeping a straight face.

She let Cerin stew in it for a moment more before heaving a pointed sigh. “I, for one, am tired of this subtlety. Let’s be honest and straightforward with each other.” She hoped it was only in her imagination that her voice quaked, ever so slightly, at including herself in this pact.

“You first.”

“I hate you,” Lillian said automatically.

“Is that your confession?” Now Cerin gave her a crooked kind of smile, one that was so smug and self-satisfactory that Lillian felt heat wash over her. In frustration, of course.

“Can I ask you not to be smart?” she grumbled, her irritation not as real as she wanted it to be.

“Absolutely not. You encouraged me to be this way.” Cerin gave a flippant shrug. “It would just be cruel to deprive me of sarcasm, I’m sure you’d agree.”

“What’s cruel is that I’m so used to your nonsense, I knew you’d say something like that—“ She stopped, feeling as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. “Oh, stars, we’re flirting.”

“We’re _what?”_ Cerin couldn’t have sounded more bewildered if Lillian had told her she had been a Koopa in disguise this whole time.

“You know. All this playful banter, it’s…” Lillian couldn’t finish her sentence, suddenly overtaken with memory. Herself, and Maria, crouching hidden behind a pair of bushes. The vegetation divided them from Cerulean, who couldn’t have been more than a few feet away. She was speaking with such confidence, such happiness that Lillian hadn’t heard from her in a long time, if ever. And then she dropped her volume and said something teasing. It was met with the deep, rough laughter of a stranger, someone distinctly non-Siren. Maria turned to Lillian with a stricken look on her face. She didn’t have to say anything to make her question clear: _What do we do?_

“Lillian?” The voice she heard next wasn’t Maria’s, it was much too low and spoken too quietly. Lillian snapped back to the present, where Cerin was staring at her in mounting concern.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, bringing her hands up to rub her eyes. She had to admit a grudging respect for Cerulean’s ability to mess with her even from beyond the grave.

“You were saying?” Cerin asked. “About the…” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, just as reluctant to repeat the _f word_ as Lillian now was.

But, damn it, she had gotten this far. Now was no time to be a coward. “We sound exactly like Cerulean and her…her lover.”

Cerin considered this for a long while…or, more likely, she was too stunned to speak. “I don’t think I understand,” she said finally, her voice flat.

“I’m not sure it is possible to understand,” Lillian said, offering her a shaky smile. “I…think it’s normal for it to be confusing, and scary. That’s what Cerulean made it seem like.”

“So she’s the authority on…on things like this now?” Cerin retorted, crossing her arms.

“If you have any other examples, I’d love to hear them.”

Cerin gave a dismissive huff. “This is ridiculous. I can’t be— _you_ can’t be—it’s not possible.”

She was being so defensive, Lillian knew that now they were getting somewhere. “Honesty and straightforwardness, remember?”

“There is nothing straightforward about this,” Cerin snapped. “I shouldn’t feel this way. And there is no earthly reason why you would ever…reciprocate.”

“Cerin, you and I both know you’re not this dense.” Lillian held the other siren’s gaze, willed herself not to show any of the nervousness that felt like it was consuming her from the inside out. “Denial isn’t a good look.”

“How can you be so calm about this?!” Cerin demanded as she raked her fingers through her hair. “The Queen would have never intended something like this, if she knew she’d have me culled—“

“I don’t care what she intended,” Lillian interrupted. “She can’t do anything about it.”

“How are you so sure that this isn’t wrong?” One of Cerin’s eyes peeked out from behind her hair, narrowed and glittering with the challenge she issued.

Lillian’s conviction faltered. She didn’t have any evidence, of course, she didn’t even know if there _was_ any. But she’d asked herself that same question many times, and always came to the same conclusion. She reached up and removed her hat, dropping it into the grass beside her. Knowing she had Cerin’s undivided attention, she swept her hair out of her face and looked the other siren full on. Cerin’s one eye widened.

“I feel it too, Cerin,” she said quietly. “How could something that feels like this be wrong?”

The other siren gaped for a while, her visible eye flicking from Lillian’s to the ground to the tree and back again. Finally she seemed to understand and shook her hat off as well, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Lillian’s heart threw itself against her chest and her stomach did a backflip. This was so different from accidental passing glances…she’d never felt so exposed. It was equally frightening and liberating.

“Is this really what you want?” Cerin asked, her voice a mere whisper. “You could have your pick of practically anyone on this earth, I’m sure…”

“I think I made my decision a while ago,” Lillian replied with a shy smile. With great care, she reached forward and took one of Cerin’s hands in hers. Their gloved fingers interlocked, and Lillian’s heart beat that much harder.

Cerin was staring at her. She didn’t really mind anymore, but glanced up with interest when the other siren heaved a long sigh.

“I still feel like I ought to be ashamed of this.”

“Are you?”

A faint smile softened Cerin’s face. “No. I feel…a lot of things at this moment, but shame isn’t one of them.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to keep her composure. “I hope you’re as terrified as I am.”

“Absolutely,” Lillian agreed, squeezing Cerin’s fingers. “But we’re scared together. I think that makes a difference.”

Cerin smiled again, this time stronger and brighter. “I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Nothing could compare.”

“When did you become such a flatterer?” Lillian asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not flattering, I’m being honest like you wanted,” Cerin answered almost indignantly, her own brow furrowing.

“Stars, I love you.”

Cerin froze and Lillian flinched, having meant to keep that particular thought inside her head. But when she made to pull away, Cerin held fast, staring at her with those gorgeous dusky eyes.

“I’m…I’m sorry, you caught me off guard, is all,” she said, glancing away for a second to run her tongue over her lips. “I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing, but…I think I love you too.”

Lillian breathed again, noting the rush of warmth that carried from somewhere in her core and spread like fire to the rest of her body.  The look on Cerin’s face, the faint pink blush on her cheeks and her eyes dilated more than they had been a moment ago, was something she wanted to internalize forever.

Until Cerin, too, came back to herself and asked, “Now what?”

Lillian sat back a little and blinked. The notion of there being some goal to achieve sounded silly, but…she had a point. What was next? What had changed?

There was one thing she’d been yearning for, something she’d thought about shamefully often, when her curiosity and imagination ran away from her. And they had plenty of time before sundown. She looked down to where Cerin’s fingers were intertwined with hers and back up, meeting her eyes as if she could pass on her intentions through looks alone. But even if that were possible, Cerin probably wouldn’t get it, so she steeled herself and prepared her words.

“I want to try something,” she whispered, like she feared eavesdroppers despite the two being the only people around for miles. “It’s…going to be new to the both of us. You have to let me know if you don’t like it. Promise me.”

Cerin nodded, looking puzzled but not fearful. Seeing her in such relative ease made Lillian relax too, just a little bit, but enough that she could fake confidence as she inched closer. Then she lifted her hand and touched her fingers to Cerin’s face, tracing the right side of her jawline. Cerin raised her eyebrows, but slowly reached up her own hand and covered Lillian’s with her palm. The shy smile that accompanied this action made Lillian forget how to breathe for a moment.

She leaned in yet closer, moving the hand on Cerin’s cheek to the back of her head. Cerin didn’t resist, though now the look she gave was less anticipatory and more just confused.

“Bear with me,” Lillian murmured, self-consciousness making her body burn. “This is…something we saw Cerulean and her Koopa doing when we caught them together.”

“Learning from the best, I see,” Cerin said, that same amused smirk twisting her lips. Luckily, Lillian was in position to shut her up. With a feeling like she had thrown herself from an immeasurable height, she closed what little remained of the distance.

When she pressed her lips to Cerin’s, time slowed to a crawl. All sensations faded away except the endless softness and her own semi-panicked pulse, sending fire searing through her veins. It could have lasted centuries for all she knew. When they broke away, Lillian sat stunned, replaying it over and over in her head and each time experiencing it anew.

Cerin, too, seemed too dazed to do anything else, her eyes unfocused until she tightened her grip around Lillian’s fingers.

“I never imagined anything could feel like that.”

It still took an extra minute for Lillian to come back to herself, though Cerin didn’t seem perturbed by her dumbfounded silence and instead smiled.

“You’ve been waiting a long time to do that, haven’t you?”

“More than you know,” Lillian replied, her vocabulary finally returning to her. She locked eyes with Cerin and gave her a mischievous little grin. “And I’d love to make up for lost time.”

It was funny how transparent Cerin was when she was flustered, even more so when her eyes were uncovered. Lillian watched her expression change from confusion to dawning realization to disbelief to eagerness. Her heart swelled even before Cerin reached for her, running her fingers through her hair and bringing their lips together again.

When they reluctantly came apart, Lillian felt a surge of nervous yet exhilarated energy coursing through her. She was beaming, she couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t, and when she raised her hand to touch Cerin’s face again, a patch of clover sprouted beneath her arm as it moved. Both sirens froze, glancing down at the ground and then back up at each other.

Lillian was the first to break the silence. “Huh. That’s new.”

“Is it? I was going to ask if that always happened.” Cerin was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” Lillian plucked one of the clovers from the ground, examining it. It wasn’t nearly as brittle as she’d expected it to be, its stem and leaves a fresh and vibrant green. Odd, the plants she summoned unintentionally were never this healthy…she dropped the clover and glanced over the rest. They all had four leaves.

When she looked back up, Cerin had turned away, peering around the trunk of the tree behind them. Her fingers reached for her hat, discarded beside her. Lillian’s brows came together as Cerin turned back, shaking her hair into her eyes.

“Surface-dwellers,” she muttered, putting her hat on. The disgust in her voice made Lillian long for her laughter instead.

Even so, she, too, shifted to see around the trunk. In the far distance were shapeless silhouettes on the horizon, making their way across the plains. It was hard to tell if they were coming this way, but it also wasn’t worth waiting to find out. She untwisted herself from the trunk with a sigh and collected her hat from the ground as well. Cerin watched her as she put it on; the two sirens shared a long glance before Lillian swept her hair into her face.

“We’ll find someplace,” Cerin said. “We won’t have to run forever, I’m sure of it.”

Lillian smiled despite herself. “Optimism doesn’t suit you very well.”

“I’m not being optimistic for the sake of it,” Cerin replied, standing up and squinting across the opposite horizon from the approaching surface-dwellers. “I mean it. We’re together, aren’t we?”

She extended her hand to help Lillian up but didn’t let go even as she rose. Having the other siren’s hand in her own made that same spark of energy flood Lillian, from her fingers to the tip of her tail.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Nor would I,” Cerin agreed, squeezing Lillian’s hand. “Shall we?”

The two set off across the hills, toward the ocean, toward the promise of a new, better life.


	9. Dal segno al coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're done  
> this series as a whole has been my fucking life and i've been working on it nonstop for over a year (i started writing 998 in june of 2016 apparently) so this isn't the end of the whole thing yet. but while part 3 is a work in progress as we speak i haven't yet committed to posting it so i have no idea if or when that'll happen.  
> as always i'm gonna plug my tumblr cause that's where i always am (hyenaklaws.tumblr.com), i beg you to criticize me

According to Cerin, the sun had risen and set three times since the pair of sirens sneaked aboard the ship. They’d hidden themselves away in the depths of the ship’s belly. Down in the cargo hold, the darkness and the scarcity of the ship’s crew suited the sirens just fine. It was perfect. Or it would have been, had Lillian not soon discovered a predisposition to seasickness. The only thing that didn’t agitate her cramping stomach was lying down and closing her eyes, so she let the days pass her by in this way while Cerin snooped around, learning the crew’s schedule and picking up some of their gossip.

At night most of the crew went belowdecks to sleep, giving the sirens an opportunity to escape the close quarters of the cargo hold and get some fresh air. Lillian had quickly decided she despised the open sea, and especially its ceaseless motion, but it was hard not to be thankful for its infinite expanses as she retched over the side of the boat.

She coughed a few more times for good measure and rested her forehead against the wooden balustrade, squeezing her eyes shut. Cerin stood beside her, glancing her over with clear concern.

“Given how little you’ve eaten, this should no longer be physically possible,” she said.

“I don’t remember asking for your expert medical opinion,” Lillian grumbled, lifting her head up and spitting into the ocean to rid her mouth of the lingering sourness. She lifted her gaze to the stars above, focusing on the curled sliver of moon hovering in the sky. The cool ocean breeze caressed her skin and sent the sails overhead flapping, the noise mixing with the rushing waters below. She scanned the horizon and noticed a dark shape in the distance, flat but lengthy and unmoving. Her curiosity piqued, she nudged Cerin and pointed to it. “Is that land?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Cerin replied, taking Lillian’s other hand and squeezing it. “We’re not stopping there—we’re going out of our way to avoid it, actually. The crew says that place is cursed.”

Lillian deflated. “Damn sailors and their superstitions,” she muttered, her guts roiling like the sea below. Having solid ground beneath her seemed like an all-too-distant memory by now, and one she’d give practically anything to relive. The perpetual nausea was awful, but even worse was the knowledge that she was defenseless if they were attacked—she needed a soil-based source to summon plants from, and the wooden decks of the ship gave her nothing, she’d tried.

“Superstition or no, I’m inclined to believe them when they say going there is dangerous. The waters around that island are abnormally turbulent. Getting too close risks wrecking completely.”

Lillian squinted across the ocean at the faraway mass, only marginally more satisfied with this practical answer. “We seem rather close regardless. What’s stopping us from jumping ship, going there ourselves?”

“Ten thousand square feet of ocean,” Cerin said dryly. “I know it’s miserable being so ill, Lilly, but jumping to your watery grave strikes me as a bad idea.”

The affectionate name, as it always did, made her smile, and so she chose to ignore the sarcasm. But as cute as Cerin’s nicknaming habit was, it did little to ease her discomfort, and she grimaced as another wave of nausea rolled over her.

“Why are you so sure we wouldn’t make it?” she asked, loathe to give up on the idea of land. Per Cerin’s eavesdropping, the crew had estimated it would be a full week before they touched down at the shores of their destination, wherever it was. She was aching to leave sea travel behind, permanently. And, as barely perceptible through her queasiness as it was, there was that unmistakable pull toward that island in particular. It was calling to her, there was no denying it.

“I’m not even sure we can swim,” said Cerin. “And now seems like a poor time to find out.”

“I think it’s worth the risk,” Lillian groaned as her stomach writhed again, ignoring her clutching at her abdomen. “Besides, there’s something else…something out there is calling me. Don’t you feel it?”

Cerin didn’t say anything at first, but Lillian watched her lips purse and felt her squeeze her hand again.

“I do,” she said guardedly. “It’s just like that giant tree in those creepy woods…”

“And the steeple in the dark forest,” Lillian added, nodding and regretting it when her stomach flipped over with the motion.

“Well, both of those places turned out to be terrible,” Cerin said, giving a flippant shrug. “It’s probably best we avoid this one, too. Knowing our luck, there’s probably some kind of bloodthirsty monster…” She trailed off, dropping Lillian’s hand and turning around. She inhaled sharply.

Lillian whipped around to stare into the face of a Toad sailor, his eyes wide and darting between the two sirens. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish out of water. Lillian’s combat instincts had her evaluating the situation: she was useless, but Cerin was not. Cerin could easily choke the surface-dweller, or toss him overboard, before he’d had the chance to shout for the rest of his crew. But they’d notice his disappearance. They’d go looking for him.

Cerin’s shadow hands were taking shape in the corner of her eye. Simultaneously, the Toad reached around his waist, pulling a cutlass out of its scabbard. The blade glittered like a jewel in the moonlight.

If they eliminated him, they’d have to have unending, ridiculous luck to evade the crew on this tiny ship. He only needed to be lucky once.

Lillian turned her back on the Toad. Her hands met the solid wood of the balustrade. She used what little energy she had left to heave herself up, for a moment precariously balanced, the wind whipping past her. Then she plunged into the sea.

She connected with a crack, her skin stinging for only a moment before the freezing water numbed it. She breached the surface, gasping and thrashing, trying to keep herself upright. Her tail had disconnected. There was nothing tethering her to anything solid, and she felt limp, ready to fall apart at any second. Behind her loomed the ship, cutting through the water at a speed that made her dizzy now that she wasn’t on it. Something else plummeted from its deck, a dark blur that vanished beneath the rolling waves. A moment later, amidst her own coughing, Cerin’s voice rang out above the swells— _“Lillian!”_

“Cerin!” Lillian gasped back, a flare of terror spurring her to splash her way forward. The smaller siren was floundering, too, just barely managing to keep herself afloat. The brim of her hat was gripped in her teeth. The waves slapped Lillian as she struggled against the current. Cerin lunged for her, seizing her wrist and pulling her close. Despite the waves crashing around her and the anxious knotting of her stomach, Lillian felt that much more secure as she wrapped an arm around Cerin’s shoulders.

“Land,” Cerin growled around the hat. “Don’t stop moving.”

They swam in the general direction of the island, buffeted by waves. As long as they got close enough to the island, the ocean’s current would wash them ashore, Lillian told herself. But the churning torrent sapped her strength, and soon it was all she could do to keep her head above water. Cerin surged onward, undeterred, dragging Lillian’s dead weight.

Lillian drifted. She fought the beckoning darkness with all her might, but she felt herself slipping, floating in and out of consciousness. It could have been minutes, or hours, or centuries, that passed as the water coursed around her. It was as if the tide’s movement took her mind with it.

Then something grainy and coarse scraped her underside. The sand shifted under her weight as the ocean dumped her onto the shore with no fanfare. She didn’t yet have the energy to open her eyes, but she couldn’t help but give a tiny moan of protest when Cerin retracted her arm from around her abdomen, cutting off the warmth she’d been clinging to. Distantly, she heard the other siren cough. Then Cerin cried out for her. Damp but warm hands were jostling her, rolling her onto her back, brushing her waterlogged hair out of her face. The words she was saying were fuzzy, indecipherable, but Lillian didn’t need to understand them to hear her panic.

Now there was a pressure on her chest, which neither her lungs nor her stomach appreciated. She coughed, and the pressure evaporated, just in time for her to turn away from Cerin and gag.

Unpleasant as it was, she felt much better with her airway clear and her gut finally at peace. She turned back over, a tiny smile spreading across her face. She’d made it. They’d made it. Together. Cerin swam into her focus as she blinked salt out of her eyes, the concerned tautness in the other siren’s face gradually falling away. Above them glimmered the stars, the sole winking witnesses to their survival.

 “Cerin, sweetheart,” Lillian breathed, reaching up to press her palm against her lover’s cheek. “You can’t hope to get rid of me that easily.”


End file.
